There is a day we New Yorkers quietly celebrate, that we don’t have a name for.

It’s the morning when I can feel the earth peel back her blanket and stretch out for the first time in months. For once, she doesn’t have to reach for a sweater to throw over her nightgown; she might even step outside to greet the day.

I do the same, stepping outside to bask in the symphony of new sounds: the silly flap of sandals against the pavement, the no‑nonsense buzz of a bee hard at work, the crunch of a bunny snacking on wildflowers. No, that’s me getting carried away; there are no bunnies in my industrial part of Brooklyn.

But it is the first kiss of summer.

If you live in bear country and not Brooklyn, the warm months are signaled not with sundress debuts and iced coffee orders, but with the grumbles and growls of furry beasts who have emerged from hibernation.

Hibernation isn’t sleep. It’s a mastery of evolution, a collection of advanced adaptations and seemingly miraculous physiological strategies that allow so many critters to burrow underground for months without food or water and still look like their fuzzy, glorious selves as they totter out of their dens. After a hearty shake, the animals are rested and ready for action, with healthy, shiny fur coats at that.

But, however wondrous and exotic the ritual seems, hibernation is a challenging concept when you really get to thinking about it: What if humans were just as in tune with our bodies? Would it work out for us? What if we followed our bodily cues as attentively as bears and other animals do?

It took me a long time to learn I am a body. In a society that splits the mind as separate from the body, I question my own desires and needs as they arise. I even distrust them, commanding them to keep quiet so I can........

© Time