I sometimes listen to the online broadcast of Boston’s NPR station here in Quito. Part of me likes the familiarity of the various hosts –Tom Ashbrook’s mellow interview voice like an old friend as I stretch or cook dinner. But, honestly, a big part of me gets some twisted pleasure from hearing the top-of-the-hour weather forecast for Boston.

I spent the first twenty-three winters of my life in the northeastern United States – mostly in and around Boston, with one venture even farther north to Saratoga. Sometimes, I think I got my father’s genes (he grew up in South Florida); sometimes, I blame it on the multiple hours I force myself to spend outside each day running in circles. Whatever it was, as I made a spreadsheet last year, outlining the different factors contributing to where I wanted to live after college (yes – I actually did this. For any non-engineers, it’s called a decision-matrix), weather carried a significant weight.

Don’t get me wrong. There are days when living in New England is beautiful. The crisp, cool days of fall when the leaves are just between beautiful tree ornaments and rotten ground scraps. The first unseasonably warm day in early spring when you can leave the house without a winter coat and feel the warmth of the sun on your skin. Even the snow-storms can be beautiful – the silence that comes and (always seemingly disproportionately) covers my parents’ suburban yard in a perfect, soft, blanket.

But it’s easy to be (literal) fair-weather fans. It’s easy to forget the two weeks of 40F and windy rain the come every March.  The bipolar Autumn oscillating between boiling you in Indian Summer or freezing your tail off with Winter come early. The blizzard after blizzard after blizzard.

I was tired of the unpredictable, the seemingly teasing New England weather. I wanted consistency and sunshine and – please – no more snow and ice and slush.

I thought about staying in the US – possibly relocating to the South West – but it was almost by default that I ended up in Quito. After leading STRIVE programs in Peru last summer, I planned to spend a few weeks to a month in Quito, visiting old friends and looking for some part time work, before an epic trip down the spine of the Andes with Dave – an old friend from high school.

But Dave ended up in Spain with a teaching position and I found myself totally burnt-out from the constant-motion of leading STRIVE all summer. All I wanted to do was stay put for a little while. A couple weeks turned into a month, turned into three months and adopting a kitten, turned into six months and getting an extension on my visa and moving into my own apartment.

Thanks to its cozy home at 9,300 feet above sea-level and being just a stone’s throw from the equator, Quito meets most of the nit-picky requirements for which my decision matrix called. It’s dry, warm but never too hot, and (at least for my first few months) generally quite sunny. In retrospect, I’m not surprised I stuck around for so long.

I always chuckled when friends from Southern California would proclaim a newfound love for “The Seasons.” How many times I heard an LA native croon, “Sunny and warm every day just gets boring. In Boston, at least the weather has character! I mean… The Seasons!” I generally kept quiet, but thought try twenty-plus years of shoveling and we’ll see how much you wax poetic over New England’s character…

This has been the first time I’ve really found myself in the reverse situation – being able to really put my money where my mouth is: my first year without a winter, without changing leaves and winter coats and post-blizzard 15-mile runs in parking-lots. Without seasons.

And I love it.

Sure, I get nostalgic for late-season cross country chills and the first day of spring when you can run shirtless even though everyone else is still wearing parkas, but part of me loves the consistency of being here. Never having to check the weather or think about what to wear. While there may be no seasons (in the sense of variation we’re used to in Boston), we do have long-term weather patterns. Cloudier months, sunnier months.

And so, this morning, as I woke up and sipped my coffee and stared out at the city nestled amongst the towering snow-capped Andes, I noticed for the first time in over a month that I could not find a cloud in the sky; the bright white of the glacier-covered peaks popping out against a bright blue backdrop. Running out the door in shorts and a t-shirt, I thought about how beautiful and wonderful this day is – particularly in contrast to the cloudier past month.

As I ran, the packs of stray dogs bathed in the equatorial sunshine –moving not a whisker as I breezed past – and I was reminded of that first teasing too-warm-too-early day of Spring that always comes in March in Boston. How magical that day can feel! Like it was worth all the shoveling and frozen-eyelashes just for that one majestic afternoon of redemption.

And part of me misses that feeling. The constant focus on what’s to come. The sense of time passing with the seasons. Maybe this is what the Californians fall for…

But for now, I need a break. I need some stability and comfort. Maybe I’ll get sick of it someday, but I haven’t quite yet.