I hate the cold. Like, really hate it. No, I’m not talking about the common cold, though that’s no fun either. And no, I’m also not talking about the let’s-cuddle-by-the-fire-drink-hot-chocolate-life-is-great-in-Aspen cold. I’m talking about temperature-dropping-body-shivering-too-cold-to-think-speak-breathe-live cold. It’s brutal, and it hurts.
Naturally, you might be thinking that I must hate winter. But that’s far from the truth. I enjoy wintertime and all the merriness it brings forth: the holidays, the cheer, and the music. Winter feels warm on the inside – you know what I mean? I am grateful to have a home to sleep in and food on my plate – so ever grateful. But on the outside, at least in New York, winter is unfriendly and frosty.
It gets so cold at times that I truly contemplate leaving – packing up and moving west or south. I’d never do it, but like others I know, I often think about what it would be like: celebrating Christmas in the yard, or bringing in the New Year on a rooftop. To be honest, I have celebrated both on an island, but I wonder what it would be like to mark the end of a complete winter season without chattering my teeth.
Every year, these mean cold months brutally smash their equally unbearable characteristics onto all of us here in the northeast. They’re like ghosts that keep haunting you, and not the Scary Movie kind.
Take, for instance, this November. It’s not even technically winter yet and I woke up to 20-degree temperature. I cried tears of pain on my commute this morning because of just how cruel the wind was acting. I thought, “What’s wrong with you, wind? Let’s try to work this out.”
December only increases the harsh winds. And snow. I used to think December was my friend when I was a student and had 10-day-long breaks. But now, I realize it was all a scam.
January is always freezing and long – the start of a new year that feels just like the last. Some more snow with a lot more slush.
February is short, but indifferent (kind of like this sentence).
And then there’s March. March is usually the sassiest of them all, attacking cities like a supersonic ninja with its random snowstorms, deceitful temperatures, and total resistance to welcome spring.
To put it all into perspective, author Gary Zukav once said:
“We cannot stop the winter or the summer from coming. We cannot stop the spring or the fall or make them other than they are. They are gifts from the universe that we cannot refuse. But we can choose what we will contribute to life when each arrives.”
And that’s true. I, nor you, can physically transform a season to what we want it to be, though mentally, we can choose how we feel about it.
However, author Robert Byrne also once said:
“Winter is nature’s way of saying, ‘Up yours.’”
I often think that’s much closer to the truth.
