I do not, nor have I ever, particularly liked winter. The only thing that gets me through the season is that it has to change eventually. If you see me staring into the distance as a lone tear escapes and freezes down my cheek, I’m just thinking about how much I miss summer.
Every winter I have the same irrational fear: that it will never end. Whenever it gets cold, and by cold I mean below 50 degrees, a thought creeps into my head that says, “What if this time it just decides not to get warm again?”
Scenes from the movie “The Day After Tomorrow,” with Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhaal, play in my head as I envision an ice age with no foreseeable end. One of my first thoughts is that my wardrobe is far from being adequately prepared for a catastrophe of these proportions.
“Which god is in charge of the weather and how big of an animal sacrifice does he or she require to end this madness?” I wonder. Before I can follow through with my plan, I am reminded that this is not ancient Egypt, so I’m back to square one.
Panic then ensues as I think about all the swimming pools I’ll never float in again, all the barbecues I won’t gorge myself at on the fourth of July, the screams of anguish I won’t cry when my legs touch the scalding leather of my car seats and the lawns I can never mow to pay for my medicine (a daily dose of Sonic milkshakes).
Instead, I am forced to live out the rest of my days in snow-prison where everyone huddles around garbage can fires to keep warm while the temperature drops to record lows — potentially below freezing. Open-toed shoes become a thing of the past, and we all have perpetual hat hair. This is not an existence I am comfortable with in the slightest.
Growing up in a desert is what ruined the rest of the world for me. “What do you mean there are other seasons besides summer?” I remember asking angrily when my family moved to Tennessee when I was in high school.
Like I said, my fear is completely irrational. I acknowledge this. That doesn’t stop me from believing it every time we have a cold snap. I will admit that my “the sky is falling” mentality is a minor overreaction to something as trivial as seasons changing.
It just breaks my heart when I wake up in the morning, look out my window and see frost on the car windshields. I can’t tell you how many times I have missed chapel because of how discouraged I feel when that happens; there is really no other option but to get back in bed. Other mammals have the right idea with hibernation.
I do have to give winter some credit: it is fodder for a quality Instagram feed. There’s something about cold air that makes it the perfect filter. Other than that, I fail to comprehend why the season even exists.
To my fellow fans of summer, fear not. Winter has to end at some point… Unless it doesn’t. And to everyone who enjoys winter: stop.
