Maybe that’s a quiet metaphor for everything else. Our truths are tilted too. What feels like a peak for you might be a quiet low for someone else — and that doesn’t make either of you wrong. Just differently angled.

So next time you complain about winter in July, remember: somewhere, someone is grateful for the rain. And next time you boast of summer in December, know that somewhere, someone is watching snow fall and calling it peace.

In the north, winter is often framed as a season of endurance, of holidays bundled against the cold, of darkness that invites introspection. Summer is childhood, freedom, the crescendo of the year.

And then — six months later — the pendulum swings.