I think I might love winter.
This may be an unpopular opinion, but I’m totally great with this polar vortex. I might even go so far as to say that I love winter.
For those playing along at home, Chicago (a.k.a. Chiberia) has been showing off with negative degree weather. Tap-dancing, really.
In stompy boots.
We’re talking -20 days with a wind chill of close to -50, snow swirling sideways, and winds that sound as if they’d really, really like to come in out of the cold as well.
Now, on my best days, I’m freezing cold. On my worst, autoimmune junk turns my nerves to needles and my brain to asleep. But still, I’m pretty stoked about this weather.
It started back in December…
…When I received a review copy of a children’s folk CD called ‘Winterland’ by the Okee Dokee Brothers. (Even if you don’t have littles hanging around, you should check these bona fide, Grammy Award-winning folk stars out. They’re exceptional.) The songs celebrate the non-Santa aspects of the season; snow, ice, snuggling up, yetis. Stuff like that. And the CD was in constant rotation through the holiday season amidst Nat King Cole and the Vince Guaraldi Trio, but it wasn’t until January when I really started internalizing each tracks’ lyrics.
“But ain’t it kinda funny/how a cold day keeps you warm…”
“I got so much to do/so much to say/so busy doing nothing on my lazy day…”
“There are hints of hope in the signs of spring…”
And then I started realizing stuff.
You know how people share memes that wail some version of “Why do we LIVE here?!” (I’ve done the same. I’ve counted myself among the Wail Group.) Well, I finally have an answer.
I live here because I love the change of seasons. And the “change of seasons” is more than just Instagram-worthy apple orchards in peak autumn or those hot dog leg shots on a summertime beach. And I think I’d forgotten that.
Winter, as I’m coming around to remembering, continues past the glitzy holiday season. Winter is a legitimate time to hibernate. It’s pretty much the only calendar-sanctioned time to permissibly close up shop for chunks of time.
January and beyond (and beyond, especially in Chicago), is when I should be resting. Slowing my heart rate down. Cozying up and tucking in. Great swaths of our world require this rest n’ restore season. So why have I been treating winter like Spring Break?
And once I made that mental shift, I cleaned up my language a little bit.
Yes, it’s cold.
It’s cold. But if every time I step outside my first words to someone are “I’m cold,” what do you think my body will start to do? Tense. Shiver. Convince my brain that this– this season that I’ve chosen to live in- is a punishment to endure. Why would I choose to choose that?
I’m no Pollyanna. I still hate being cold. I really do.
But I’ve been attempting to notice a few good things here and there when I have to venture outside. The ridiculously cute hats people have been wearing. The muffled quietude of walking anywhere, the kind that almost begs you not to fill the silence with podcasts or playlists- even if just for a moment. And if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never stop thinking that snowflakes sparkling in weak sunlight is the work of the fairies. That (near-daily) visual alone is enough to make me love winter.
And once I’m back indoors? Hoo boy.
Now, I realize that these unexpectedly frozen days off from school and work take a financial, educational and- for some- physical toll on people. But I’m not one to look a gift unicorn in the mouth. So yesterday, my kids and I did puzzles. Watched old movies. Read books in a pile under my new velour electric blanket (for I am one tea sandwich away from solving mysteries in Cabot Cove with Jessica Fletcher). I made brisket in the Crock Pot and allowed more screen time than usual and built with blocks and let the kids get bored and even took a nap.
We’re doing it all over again today.
Every cardboard box will be colored upon and questionable words will be formed in Bananagrams. Rooms will be joyously rearranged and re-nested. The kids will fight a little. I’ll probably lose my temper a little. But I’ll most likely- and rather incongruously- continue to feel my mind quieting.
There’s a reason why the world is enamored of the Danish term “hygge.” Who wouldn’t want to embrace coziness in all aspects of their home and relationships? Not this gal with her stack of Agatha Christies and lemongrass oil diffuser and aged bourbon and saved-up episodes of “Jeopardy.”
Seriously, I’m a thousand years old.
Spring will show its signs when it’s good and ready.
And when it does, I want to be ready (and good).
So my wish for all of my fellow tundra-dwellers is that you find an aspect of this bonkers weather that reminds you why you “chose” this. Why you might actually- even a little bit- love winter yourself.
And maybe it’ll encourage you to keep choosing this.
Isn’t that a warm thought?
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