It’s the first real day of Autumn, or a very delayed Autumn, I should say.
The sun has started falling from the sky earlier than 5pm, with temperatures also carrying bite. Trees pose awkwardly, whilst the leaves carpet the streets in colour, clinging to your clothes.
England is so different around this time. October feels like the bridging month before winter descends and draws a big, dark sheet over everything.
Halloween comes next, with the flickering of orange lights, then Guy Fawkes celebrations light up early November, and then the final flourish: Christmas.
The contrast was mesmerising at first, but now, almost three years on, it feels somewhat jarring.
Looking at all the crumpled linen smooshed into the corners of my drawers, I ventured to the spare wardrobe, where all my winter clothes are folded up in clear boxes on top.
When I take one down, the other comes too, and before I know it, I am standing in a puddle of scarves, stained hoodies and moon boots I regret buying. Stupid me — just because moon boots appeared at Primark doesn’t mean people have worn them since the ’80s.
Now, a year older and a weight-lifting fan, my jeans no longer fit. And thus, ’tis the season to spend more money, on top of more money for Christmas presents, work’s Secret Santa, wedding suppliers and now an updated winter wardrobe.
Since getting engaged, the past six months have been about saving and spending. In and out. The minute we’re paid on the first, the money leaves quickly, by the third, with another bill to pay.
I guess one pro is that, on top of all the outgoings, we aren’t paying much rent, on account of still being at the parents’ house.
However, I do feel like not having much space to myself, a small bed, paper-thin walls, bathroom curfews and needing a lift to and from the station for work can prove quite unsexy for any relationship. I guess, really, it comes down to: do you want a nice wedding or a thrilling sex life?
At home, I love having the house to myself. My job is super people-heavy, so much so that I often feel like I come home and can’t properly communicate with anyone.
I recently asked a British friend, “What do people do in winter, here?”
“Um… I guess they unwind, reflect, be cosy, celebrate the year. They definitely don’t start doing a tonne of things.”
“Hmmmmmmm,” I remember thinking.
Only late last year, we were getting ready to head home for summer in Australia, and I was feeling stressed about how I would feel going home after being away for so long. After feeling so different, what emotions were waiting for me? Would I miss my old life or be happy I left?
Now, back at this time of year again, I’m not escaping the winter, and I’m also not stopping. In fact, it has made me want to speed up even more to try and squeeze more out of the year. I want to complete another short course, increase my cardio (just in time for the wedding) and move into our next place before Christmas.
That way, I can show my family when they come over and, in a way, feel like me again. Be able to walk to the shops, go to the gym without needing a lift. Feel as independent as I have always been, before we moved out to the sticks to save money.
“Come in!” I will say, opening the door to our new place. “This is the life I’ve been carving out for the past three years.”
Maybe I’m all out of touch with Hygge.
Maybe winter’s wind-down isn’t for me, and my body is still wired for the Aussie summer holidays.
Or maybe I feel like I haven’t achieved enough this year, and I have two months to do it all.
One day I hope to embrace my inner Hygge, but I’m not quite ready yet.
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