When I peeked out of my bedroom a week ago I discovered something terrible. It had snowed overnight, leaving a thin blanket of brrrrrr everywhere. How disappointing.
Now I do recognize that I live in a state where snow is a thing every year. There are loads of cool things to do with snow. You can build snowmen; My childhood winters consisted mostly of trying to emulate a lot of Calvin’s famous snow creations. You can build igloos (theoretically, of course. I’ve tried, and apparently I can’t.) You can go sledding, you can have snowball fights, you can build forts, you can do all kinds of things. Winter is a magical time.
So when I awoke to snow what I saw wasn’t a myriad of possibilities. I saw instead; People will be driving stupidly; I will pass several vehicular accidents (actual count: 4 that day); It’s bleedin’ cold out there. I wasn’t wrong.
It hasn’t really gotten better. I’m not very excited about this season.
I have hope, though.
I’m a romantic. Everyone who knows me know this. I try to find joy in the simplest things, I try to always have a positive outlook no matter the situation. Sometimes I fall back into that hole of despair but getting back out has become more like simply picking myself up off the ground – where it used to be like trying to climb out of a mudslide with bloodied hands. Point is, I always smile. I always laugh. I always try to help others up. I always try to be honest with myself and others.
Here is my secret hope I won’t admit aloud: I hope with all my heart that one day soon I look out my window and I see a sparkling, bright, fresh, thick blanket of snow on everything and it pulls out my inner child from wherever she’s been hiding, and it makes me want to go sledding, and make snow angels, and throw snowballs. I hope that when she comes out she’s loud and obnoxious, energetic and blindly cheerful beyond any reasonable quantity. I hope that winter doesn’t get me down.