I haven’t seen snow in almost eleven months - unless you count that one day I hiked up an Alp in converse sneakers. I’d almost forgotten how mesmerizing the powdery whiteness floating absentmindedly down from the sky could be. Right now, the flakes are small and close together, veiling the world behind a shroud of what looks like fog but is actually cold, wet, glittering, glorious snow.
I love the snow. I love the way it lands on my skin and gets tangled in my eyelashes, the way it slowly builds up on the edge of a fence until one moment you look outside and suddenly there are piles of it everywhere, softening the sharp man-made edges into a homogenous landscape of drifting dunes with the occasional green or brown tree rising out of the whiteness. I love how silent the world becomes, every sound dampened but the crunch of ice and the swish of the powder under your own feet. I love the smell of it - that clean, earthy scent you only smell when you bury your face in it and feel it melt under your hot breath.
Sometimes I wish I could move to a warmer climate - a place without winter, without seasonal affective disorder, where I could live in eternal warmth without ever having to pull on layer after layer of sweatshirts and scarves and the occasional toque to be warm. But then I remember Christmas break in 2004 when my brother and I built snow forts in the backyard that lasted until April, and how half my neighborhood got in on a snowball fight, and that time my dad and I spent all morning building the perfect ramp for a snow saucer to jump off of, which my neighbor and I then rode until long after dark. And I realize there is no part of me that could ever leave this life for good, no matter the hell that the rest of the winter may put me through.
I say all this not as a justification for my joy at the third snowfall this week despite my roommate’s constant frustrated yells of “four more months of this shit!” And it’s not a case of wishful thinking that maybe if I list all the wonderful things about snow I’ll be able to bear it.
I’m writing this from a crossroads in my college career, one that could make or break my future. Or maybe it’s not that dramatic - maybe it won’t determine whether I succeed, but rather in which way. Either way, I’m stuck between going to DC next semester and staying here to finish my degree at McGill.
On the one hand, I’m so sick of this toxic environment at McGill. I’m sick of the culture of all-nighters, of competition for unattainable A’s, of prioritizing my GPA over everything else, including my own mental state. I’m sick of nights without sleep and days without food because I focus better when I’m a certain level of hungry. I’m tired of waking up in the morning with nothing to look forward to but a disapproving professor and a disappointing grade. I’m tired of disappointing myself, I think, but there’s no way to escape the constant spirals downward from hope that this time, the paper was perfect, only to be dashed by someone else’s undervaluation of my accomplishments.
And I’m so exhausted by the Future.
I used to have a plan. I used to know: McGill for undergrad, UBC for law, and whatever happens afterwards will be handed to me on a plate. Now I know that’s not going to happen - once I graduate, whether in June or October, I’m on my own to find a place to work and to start creating my future. And I’m so tired of lying awake at night, trying to imagine anything beyond the blackness that hangs over my images of anything after graduation. It’s like my life stops once I’m no longer in uni, and sometimes I catch myself wishing that it would - that I could simply cease to exist the moment I’m handed that diploma, rather than having to take on the Real World on my own.
This turned into more of a rant than I wanted it to, so I’ll draw it to a close here. The snow has slowed down a bit. I’ll have to go outside soon, to where it’s slippery because the fresh powdery snow just covered up the black ice that coats the sidewalk. It’s going to be a difficult walk tonight, but I’ll take it slowly, one step at a time. I’m sure I’ll slip once or twice, but if I do it will be because I’m not used to the winter walk yet. I’ll learn with each step and my body will readjust at some point.
And of course, I’ll get to enjoy the sight of the snowflakes in the glow of the streetlights, the feeling of them landing on my eyelashes and my tongue, as the invigorating cold fills my lungs. I don’t have to go out tonight - I could stay home where it’s safe and warm. But I’ve never been one to take the safe option. No, I’ll make the journey tonight, no matter how treacherous the conditions…and I’ll enjoy it.
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