Last week, I was wearing three layers of clothing each time I went outside to feed my chickens. My breath formed tiny clouds every time I exhaled and I needed to take care to not trip in the snow. The skies were gray and empty. The world seemed quiet and cold.
This week everything has changed. The snow is gone, the sun is warm, and every time I blink it seems like more birds appear in the trees. The world is warm and my ears are filled with birdsong.
Sadly, this reprieve from winter’s icy grip will be a short one. The weather forecast shows that temperatures will plummet below freezing next week, and I’ll need to bundle up to protect myself from freezing rain and snow. There is a phrase for this turn of events: false spring, and it’s a common occurrence where I live.
Some years the false spring is barely a blip on the radar. The weather goes from being painfully cold to simply annoyingly so, and we humans enjoy what little bit of warmth we can before a new wave of cold comes in.
Other years, like this one, the change is dramatic. The world is transformed overnight and, although I know better, I begin to hope. I wonder if maybe spring will come early this year. I check the calendar over and over again to see if I’m mistaken about the time of year. My gaze lingers long and lovingly on the seed catalogs in my living room and I wonder if I can get an early start on planting.
And just as my winged hope flies a bit too high—as if to touch the sun—reality yanks it by the ankle, bringing it crashing down to earth.
The sun disappears behind gray clouds and winter comes again. In spite of myself, I always feel disappointment in these moments. Intellectually, I know that lasting warmth won’t come until some time in April. The calendar is adamant that spring is still several weeks away. But there is still some tiny part of me that wonders, “What if this time is different?”
How much more food could I grow with an extra two months added to the growing season? How much bigger could my roses grow if they didn’t need to hibernate for so long? How many more eggs would my chickens lay if the days weren’t so dark and cold?
I linger on these questions for a short time and then I shrug my shoulders. I put on my warm clothes in the morning and go about my chores. I warm my insides with endless cups of hot soup and warm tea. I go about the work of caring for my homestead amid the winter cold because there is nothing else to do.
Spring will come when it’s ready, but it won’t come any faster if I am lax in my work. The only thing I can do is put my shoulder to the proverbial wheel and make sure that I’m ready when the warm days come again.
In Buddhism, we’re taught that everything in our universe is constantly changing. More than that, we’re taught that this change, also known as impermanence, can be a source of great suffering. We endure pain when things change in a way we don’t like and we endure more pain when things refuse to change when we want them too.
At times, unwanted change may come in the form of a broken-down car. At other times, the change we long to see might be an improvement in the weather or reconciliation with a lost friend. But one thing is certain: any time the impermanence of the world doesn’t meet our expectations, suffering is the result.
It is normal and natural to have an emotional response in these moments. We may feel confusion, sadness, or anger. We may wish with all our hearts that things could be different. But we must be careful not to hold on to these emotions.
Buddhism teaches us that by learning to accept the world as it is, even when we don’t like the way it is, we can experience greater joy and less sorrow. This occurs because by not holding onto our disappointment, we create space to plan for a brighter tomorrow. And not lingering on the misfortunes of our past helps us experience the joy of our present moment.
Sometimes our happiness endures and sometimes it is as short-lived as a false spring. But it is in our moments of despair that growth becomes possible. When our dreams are broken and our hopes are dashed, we enter a space free of delusions.
For a small moment in time, we see the world with clear eyes. And we must use our new-found knowledge to plan for a better tomorrow.
Namu Amida Butsu
Related features from BDG
Scattering Petals, Falling Leaves: Spring in Noh and the Japanese Sense of Transience
Walking Together: Reflections from a Spring Retreat with My Daughter
Spring Grief: A Tribute to Gerry Loose
Letting Inner Spring Bloom: Reclaiming Energy after Eclipse Season
