I have this theory that, by this time of year, spring friskiness and summer naïveté wear off. Then people get depressed about it and find someone new after all the Halloween parties, maybe even waiting as late as Thanksgiving when families try to set up the singles, or those singles realize how lonely it can get during the cold winter holidays. Nobody desperately wants to be the single person at a New Year’s Eve party — especially when you climb into the mid-20s or early 30s, and all of a sudden a bunch of poor bastards are marrying longtime girlfriends just because they think it’s right. And those poor bastards are kissing those longtime girlfriends as the ball drops, but you’re just eager to chug that champagne, get through the well-wishing and Auld Lang Synes, and get the hell out of there. Somehow you regret the decision you made to go out instead of drinking alone to the televised calamity of Times Square. On one level or another, you’d rather not be reminded of your perceived failures as a member of society. Such cultural rituals as the New Year’s Eve party can be full of incredible disillusion, but that doesn’t mean it won’t sting.

I’m not alone in this line of thought; John Mayer wrote “St. Patrick’s Day” and was probably thinking the same thing:

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it’s obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
And come January we’re frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won’t you be my valentine?
And we’ll both be safe ’til St. Patrick’s Day

Maybe this is exacerbated here in the beautiful state of Colorado, a place in which all four seasons are gloriously lived out to the fullest. We experience nature’s most nuanced forms: the amber and golden hues of the trees in the autumn, the cold and crisp bite of the rain in the spring. The anticipation of a looming extreme, whether it be the dead of winter or the dry heat of the summer, can drive emotions and actions and intentions off the charts.

Call yourself a rebel, but whether you’ve acted on it or just thought about it, nobody can completely escape it. On another musical note — in somewhat of an ode to the Mile High Music Festival — Jason Mraz nailed it on the head when he sang in the acoustic version of “I’m Yours”:

It’s our god-intended right to be loved, loved, loved, loved… loved.

God-intended or not, love works in mysterious ways. As this year comes to a close, I will most likely face a bitterly cold winter. But this time, it’s for the better; I’ll be fresh and ready and far less naïve when the warm weather rolls around.