ESSAY
In praise of cabin fever
by Seth Rogovoy
(GREAT BARRINGTON, Mass., March 14, 2001) - I know there is a breed of
human
being drawn to the light and to the outdoors, who thrives on changing
scenery and activity, who requires fresh air, movement and exposure to the
sun.
Representatives of this breed see a hill or a mountain and they want to
climb it; they see woods and they want to explore them; they see an
expanse
of beach and they want to feel the sand squishing through their bare toes;
they see an ocean and they are drawn into it like a baby to its mother's
embrace.
These afflicted types are compelled to get up, get out and do
things. They can't stay inside and idly putter for long. For them, there
is
a world outside that awaits, that attracts, that calls to them and that
cannot be ignored.
Because of their outwardly-directed tendencies, in winter and in
these parts especially, apparently -- and I know about this because I have
read all about it - these unfortunates are vulnerable to what is called
"cabin fever."
Around this time of year, right around now -- in fact, today more than any
day so far -- these folks have had it up to here. They've had it with the
snow; they've had it with the ice; they've had it with the cold; they've
had
it with the darkness; they've had it with the sand and the salt and the
plows and everything that makes navigating the world, and particularly the
Berkshires, so unpleasant 'round about now, today, this morning.
After one too many afternoons spent drinking beer and watching college
basketball on TV, after one too many weekends cooped up with friends and
loved ones who are beginning to resemble fellow contestants on "Survivor,"
they are ready to strip naked and go jump in a lake.
Entire industries are built around alleviating the symptoms of cabin
fever.
Shopping malls are the most prominent, what with their Presidents' Day
sales
and Lincoln's Birthday sales and Winter Clearance sales and Mardi Gras
sales
and Cabin Fever Madness sales. But everyone knows that spending money is a
sugar high that induces a momentary bit of euphoria followed by an even
deeper plunge into the depths of depression. Shopping is the cocaine of
cabin fever prescriptions.
Perhaps the most popular solution to cabin fever is the avian one: to fly
south. Florida was invented for this very purpose; what other explanation
could there be for it? But even Florida has its limitations, most notable
among them being the wholesale ugliness of the place, its utter lack of
culture in even the most liberal usage of the term, and the hordes of
drunken college students that descend on it for that adolescent cure for
cabin fever known as "spring break."
Then of course there are cruise ships, Mexico and the Caribbean, but no
one
reading this far into this piece would even consider going to any of those
places. Or if you did you wouldn't get it anyway, no matter how funny it
was.
The thing is, for those of us who like nothing better than to stay inside
and avoid the outdoors at all possible costs, for those of us who pray for
rain to spoil a planned picnic, for those of us who look to the Weather
Channel in hopes of scotching an unwanted outing, for those of us who are
actually thankful for Lyme-disease-carrying ticks, mosquito-borne West
Nile
virus and the ozone hole for making even our outdoorsy friends and loved
ones realize that a day at the beach is no walk in the park but rather a
serious health hazard, cabin fever is just not an issue.
When your idea of paradise or the world-to-come is mandatory lockdown --
preferably in a cozy chair with a pot of tea, a plate of home-baked
cookies,
a pile of books and newspapers to read, and nothing to distract you
(especially no one to suggest going for a walk or a drive) -- then the
hazy,
lazy days of a late, snowbound winter are to be cherished and embraced
with
the same enthusiasm those Jon Krakauer-types save for the ocean.
In case you haven't figured it out yet, I come to praise cabin fever, not
to
bury it.
Now before you get all hot and bent out of shape over my flippant attitude
toward what for some is a very troublesome problem, rest assured that I
take
it very seriously. I am not equating mere antsyness with the genuine
physiological affliction called SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'm
sure it is unpleasant, and judging from the number of tanning salons
popping
up in these parts, it is more widespread than one might imagine.
But for someone whose ideal way to spend a sunny, weekend afternoon is
inside a movie theater, preferably where you go in during daytime and come
out when it's dark, thus having gotten through the brightest part of the
day
without any sense of its having passed, cabin fever just isn't on the
radar.
For what more could one ask than long stretches of time dedicated to sloth
and laziness. Haven't accomplished much these past few months? Hey, it's
not
your fault! The weather has been awful, and it's all anyone could do just
to
get out of bed and make breakfast. Don't even think of venturing out, much
less doing anything productive. In weather like this, it's enough just to
survive. In fact, anything more could be perilous to your health. Exertion
of any kind is to be totally avoided. Don't shovel that snow; don't rake
that roof. Make another cup of tea and sit back down and read a book, read
a
paper, take a nap. And just be thankful you're not outside.
[This column originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle's special "Cabin
Fever" issue of Berkshires Week on March 22, 2001. Copyright Seth Rogovoy
2001. All rights reserved.]
Seth Rogovoy
rogovoy@berkshire.net
music news, interviews, reviews, et al.
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