There once was a time when that first Montana snowfall was cause for celebration and unbridled enthusiasm. Like many kids, I couldn’t wait to race my Flyer down the steepest of hills, meticulously build snowmen like the ones on tv, construct forts of glistening white, participate in countless harrowing snowball fights, and of course, flutter about on the blinding canvas in pursuit of the perfect snow angel. Ice skating, though never something I was adequate at, had its own unique and exciting appeal as well. But as I got older, time not only chipped away at my fervor for wintertime, it seemed to transform it into dread.
Complicating matters was that the circulation in my fingers seemed to be worsening; the tips would turn white and go numb. I was later diagnosed with Raynaud’s Syndrome. Years later, I was diagnosed with non-allergic rhinitis. Both are aggravated by the cold. But minor health issues aside, it’s driving on unpredictable roads that seems to have had the largest impact on me.
When I was in my twenties, I never paid much attention to the weather, much less driving conditions. Perhaps my sense of immortality was numbing the underlying anxiety. However, a wreck in 2014 instilled a sense of dread that’s been difficult to shake.
I was venturing home from work, and the roads were slushy. Going with the flow of traffic, I changed lanes, and in doing so, my car began to veer into oncoming traffic. In a panic, I then over-corrected and whilst spinning in circles, hit a tree on the side of the road. I ended up there; facing east bound on Lemay Avenue, which runs north and south. I was essentially face to face with countless shocked onlookers as they drove past my battered car with the rattled person inside. Luckily, no one got hurt (including myself), and no other cars were involved.
Still, after that hair-raising experience, the lightest dusting of flakes then compelled me to halt any plans I may have and hunker down until it passed. A situation that stands out was when I canceled on a friend at the very last minute. The reason it’s worse than it sounds is because she was getting a surgical procedure done and I was her ride. But the panic-inducing influx of winter storm warnings on my phone motivated me to opt out of my obligations once more. Luckily, that friend was still able to secure a ride, and somehow still forgive me for putting her in that situation.
So why not move somewhere warmer then? The fact is, I truly do love it here. I also enjoy the beauty and uniqueness that all different seasons possess. In addition, I strongly feel that the snow is aligned with the nostalgia and mystique of the holidays. Therefore, the pros outweigh the cons- despite all my pronouncements to the contrary.
That said, my current solution is to forge on with my brand new snow tires, ongoing therapy, and an acceptance/appreciation for what is.
Perhaps that’s just part of growing older; reminiscing about certain aspects of being young: the carelessness, the pain-free body, and the emphasis on playing. As I write this, it occurs to me- it really is less about cold weather, and more about aging isn’t it? And making our own peace with it, whether that means changing our surroundings or changing our outlook…or both.