snowangel-ing

Freezing rain turned into inconquerable snow drifts. We've been hit with storm after storm for months.

But the fact that it’s been winter, that it’s been dark, and that it’s been cold has had less effect on me than I assumed it would.

As we walked into the apartment the other day, I had the distinct thought that other states simply do not have the seasonal range that midwestern ones do. I made the remark to Mariah that it is nice to have snow, in a way.

She said something along the lines of “I suppose that’s true,” and then stated that she just didn’t like the cold. And it has been cold. Windy, dark, slick. But I find that in all honesty, I do not mind.

It’s been windy, but the wind blows the snow around in torrents.

It’s been dark, but the city lights sparkle and dance.

It’s been slick, but slipping and sliding on the sidewalk makes me smile every time.

I remember dreading the start of daylight’s savings time, but when it arrived I got to watch the lights on the third-of-a-mile walk to my car in the parking lot. My daily walks to and from the office became some of the best parts of my day. There have been many times that I arrive at revelations while I walk through it all: freezing rain, light snow, and heavy drifts.

It occurs to me that this winter has been especially complex, and because of that, I have found a rich beauty in it all. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that I truly appreciated winter like I have this time around.

Due to the weather’s unpredictability, time spent outside looks different every time. When snow is actively falling, I like to sit and watch. When the roads white-out because of the wind, I have no choice but to trust my intuition on the commute. When fresh snow has just fallen, I like to draw hearts in it with my feet while I walk. When I’m wearing the right footwear, I tromp through the drifts or run as fast as I can. When the snow turns to rain I take my hat off and let my hair catch the drops.

The beauty has been un-ignorable. Noticing it has been automatic. And the different types of weather that this season has to offer have impressed their complexity upon me.

And that’s when I discovered something.

To be complex is to invite adventure.

I’ve been laboring under the delusion that complexity is, by default, a bad thing. That each emotional season must have its ins and outs, nothing less. To whirl from emotion to emotion is inconsistent and unwelcome. In any given scenario, processing should look like a fairly straightforward path. To be sad is to be sad. Be sad until you aren’t sad anymore. It should be simple, because simple is good.

But by that logic, each winter must be cold and snowy, that is all. Freezing rain in December shouldn’t happen. 40 degree weather in the middle of a week that’s been consistently below zero is unpredictable and unwanted. Each day should get one degree warmer and one inch less snowier until it is spring.

Yet this has never been anyone’s experience with winter. And it certainly has not been my experience in the past several months.

It is almost as if the weather has walked alongside me--both of us horribly unpredictable and indescribably nuanced. Yet instead of becoming frustrated with the lack of winter’s tangible “growth,” I have delighted in its complexities and the things they reveal to me.

The season has shown me something that stirs me, something that I had yet to discover when I sat down to write:

Life without meaningful complexity lacks adventure. It lacks spirit. There is no depth in repeating the perfect summer day, every day. Within each season there exists a diverse system of weather patterns which lend that season uniqueness and strength.

So when my wounds reopen with a steeper wind-chill than I’ve ever felt before, I’m not going to insist that it go away. I might just fall flat on my back, let the cold seep into my skin, and ask my broken bones to move, somehow. To make a snow angel.

The truth is that no matter how hard it hurts me now, I simply won’t have that ability in a few months. The snow will be gone and I will be changed. I will no longer have the opportunity to painstakingly etch a work of art onto the blank, frigid canvas.

To scold myself for not being the happiest, healthiest version of myself is to scold the sun for not shining, knowing full well that I love everything the heavens have to offer, in their time.

I told Mariah I was writing a blog post about relating the weather to how I feel. The following dialogue is what she came up with for me:

Mariah: “Hail, but every piece has a nail in it.”

Greta: “So I guess you could call it Nail.”

Mariah: “N’hail. And it kind of sounds like nowayinhell.”

Greta: “It sounds like what?”

Mariah: “Nuh-hail. No-way-in-hail. I’m a linguist.”

A few minutes later she made an inappropriate joke and refused to stand with her nose in the corner. Then dropped to the floor and started eavesdropping on the neighbors.