There is something ugly and small about winter that I like. Perhaps because I was born into it. And there’s a stillness too. I feel it most when I’m back home in Nebraska leaving the bar at 2 a.m., warmed by old friends and tiny drinks. I walk to the car, snow crunching underfoot and, as soon as I’m alone, I stop. I stop and listen. I love that moment of quiet, blue desolation.
I do not handle the cold well. I am quick to shiver and my long johns don’t come off once they go on. So these moments of serenity are strange and precious. Something deep inside me quietly overpowers the elements and I feel some kind of inner peace. For this reason, I once made an igloo in our backyard and then laid inside for hours trying to fall asleep inside that feeling.
Winter birthdays are a challenge. What is there to do? This year I decided to lean in and seek snow since that’s become something of a novelty in New York. $500 and 120 miles later I had my squall. When I returned to the city for my actual birthday, it finally snowed, marking New York's first significant snowfall in 701 days. It was the perfect gift.