We’ll weather the weather wherever we wander
This summer has me thinking a lot about the weather. It’s one of those things we have zero control over yet it affects every aspect of our lives - our moods, our clothes, the hobbies and activities we choose, the houses we have and the cars we drive, our electricity bills, our weekends.
And unless you’re a snowbird who’s moved south for retirement, you probably don’t live where you live for the weather. At least, we sure didn’t choose the Midwest for the glorious weather - it was more an affordability and family proximity decision.
This summer has been sooo rainy. Rain almost every day, overcast days interspersed with sudden downpours that ebb into drip-drops. The ground is soggy, the potted plants are begging for mercy. When the rain stops and we go outside, the mosquitoes attack us like a buggy version of the zombie apocalypse. The sunny days get so hot and humid you want to stay inside with the air conditioning anyways. We waited all winter for this?
Maybe I’m just feeling bitter and ready to move, but I’m so sick of the Midwest weather. I used to like four seasons, each bringing something new to love, marking the passage of time so reliably. I never loved winter, but it made the holidays festive and the spring that much sweeter. Now I think, Fuck this! Why do I want to live somewhere that makes every season miserable?!
I was looking at climate averages in Warwickshire, the area we’re most likely moving to, and it sounds pretty perfect. It rains less (shocking, I know), and it never gets that hot or cold. Sure, it gets a little less sun, but if we go outside more because there are more temperate days, then it’s still a win.
English weather is like English personalities, generally pretty mild and affable and not too easily riled up. The summers are cooler, so you can wear long pants (ahem, trousers) and long-sleeved shirts and light jackets. It’s perfectly civilized - unlike here where I’m melting, with sunscreen in my eyes, epic underboob sweat, and my feet forever dirty from living in flip flops. Frizzy humid hair, covered in bug bites and sunburnt shoulders, despite the aforementioned sunscreen.
The winters are mild too, sure they are chilly and dark and rainy and if there’s a dusting of snow everyone freaks out. But that’s as bad as it gets. You can still wear cute jackets and shoes, still go outside without worrying about frostbite or needing to carry emergency blankets in case your car breaks down. You don’t have to navigate a stroller through piles of crusty, gray snow because the snowplow heaved a wall of it up against the sidewalk crossing and nobody has bothered to shovel a path. Not that I’ve done that a thousand times (more like a million).
I know nowhere is perfect, but I’m ready for a weather change, and until I get to move to a tropical island, I’ll settle for Warwickshire - it’s still a step up from the Midwest!
