weatherapy

eariler today, i was sitting on the couch, looking ahead at the rest of the year to come and slowly feeling more and more overwhelmed. so many questions, so many uncertainties, plenty of gaping holes, and no clue about answers or resolutions or metaphorical drywall. the more i tried to create a picture for myself, the more panic and fear were inching in. i was feeling down, and alone, and sad, and i could tell that i was on the precipice of a gloom spiral, peering down into the swirling abyss.

i also knew i wanted to snap myself out of it.

a couple of books i’d reserved had come in for me at the local library, so i decided to walk over to pick them up. but as i began to get ready, i saw that what had been a pretty meek snowfall outside had turned into a bit of a snowstorm. i suited up accordingly, put on my growlers and headed out, figuring that i’d take the scenic route to the library so as to enjoy a little of the walk-perfect weather.

see, i love walking in snowstorms.

it’s an acquired taste, to be sure, and it takes a certain type of person to not only enjoy, but delight in a snowstorm walk. the conditions aren’t exactly ideal; it’s often windy and cold, and the snowfall is usually heavy. visibility is sometimes low, the drifts sometimes high and, more often than not, you will end your walk blissfully pooped but encased in a thin crust of snow which, when thawed, leaves you soaking wet.

but, oh, the sheer joy i get out of that kind of walk.

it’s wonderful. invigorating. soul-nourishing. the neighbourhood streets and walking paths are often completely empty save for me, and the blanket of snow acts like a giant muffler, putting the world on mute. for blocks and blocks, sometimes for kilometers, it’s just me. alone. walking in the snow. no one else around. no sound except for my own footsteps, my breathing, the gentle whoosh of my sleeves against my jacket and my thoughts.

so, today, my short hop to the library turned into a long walk sprinkled with a healing lesson.

about three minutes in, when i felt my lungs expanding and my head clearing and the excitement of an eight-year-old me -- eager to frolick in the snow for hours -- emerging, i decided to skip the library altogether and to just savour the walk for as long as i needed. i changed my course, wandered along vacant side streets and gave my growlers their first real workout. after a bit, i was walking directly into the wind and, as a result, i was looking almost straight down. in a bid to avoid being pelted in the face with the falling snow, my head was tilted toward my boots and my eyes were looking, at most, three feet ahead.

“good grief, this is no way to walk,” i thought. “i’m staring at the ground instead of what’s around me.”

but, as much as it would have been nice to look up and look around and check out the scenery, i was doing what i needed to do to protect myself. as soon as i lifted my head, it was like teensy shards of ice were hitting my face and i could barely keep my eyes open for all the snow flying directly into them. so, for my own sake, i just kept looking at my feet and the steps i was taking and the little clumps of snow i was happily kicking along with me. i walked this way for a long time, a thin layer of snow slowly forming along the front of my jeans and snow barnacles gathering in all the creases of my jacket. a stray bunch of hair had also fallen out of my hood, and i noticed some pretty sweet haircicles growing. eventually, though, i’d gone as far in one direction as i wanted to go, and it was time to turn around and head back.

and that’s when my view changed.

once the wind was at my back, and i was walking with the falling snow instead of against it, it was easy to look up. i could behold more of the winter wonderland around me, inhale its beauty and keep walking. i stopped occasionally, just to turn and let the snow hit my face for a few seconds. when i did, i could feel it quickly gathering on my eyelashes and, as lame as it may sound, each tiny, chilly flake hitting my skin felt like a little burst of healing from mother nature. i could feel my tensions easing, and i even imagined that positive energy coursing through my veins to defeat lefty. it felt lovely, so i kept doing it every few blocks. the snow was still falling hard, the winds were still blowing, the sidewalks were just as empty as they’d been an hour before, but now i could look at it all and appreciate it without squinting.

it was then, on my glorious trek home, that the walk’s significance began to sink in.

aside from an excellent way to rejuvenate my mind and lift my own spirits (which it did), my snowstorm walk provided the unexpected bonus of delivering me a life metaphor. because, as i went, i realized that sometimes in life (as on a snowstorm walk) it’s great to hold your head high, look around, take in your surroundings and really see everything that’s there... but that it’s equally important to know when it’s in your best interest to look down for a bit.

to understand when it’s more helpful to perhaps look no farther than two steps ahead in order to protect yourself from being overcome.

and to realize that simply putting one foot in front of the other can be just as valuable as looking at the big picture of what lies before you... so you can continue walking.