Seasons, Snow Globes and Surviving Mr. Winter… (I have a few names but…)

I live in an area where we allegedly get to experience all four seasons—Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter.

Well… kinda.

Lately, it’s been mostly Spring, also known as mud-flinging season. You know the one: slop everywhere, rain that can’t decide if it wants to sprinkle or unleash its inner waterfall, a quick pop of flowers, and then—SURPRISE!!! …more rain. Then it’s, “Hurry! Plant the seeds before the sky notices!” We get a tiny little summer teaser—those magical 80-degree days—but don’t get too excited. It’s going to rain again. (Jazz hands. Obviously.)

But honestly? I love the rain. It’s like water for my soul. When my kids were little, I’d suit them up and send them out to splash around like happy, feral ducks… and they still do this, by the way. Possibly still feral, but they’re adults now, so I’ve stopped fighting it. Dancing in it? Therapeutic. Cleansing. Freeing. If you haven’t tried it, put it on your list right between “drink more water” (or whatever your pleasure) and “stop letting weird psychos stress you out.”

When I was a little girl, my grandfather would take me outside when it rained. He’d turn the music up in the garage and say, “Someday you’ll find someone who will dance with you in the rain.” As a kid, I was like, “Okay Grandpa, but can we get a coffee after?” (Which was really just a splash of coffee drowned in hot water, milk, and sugar.) Now I realize he meant: Life’s going to hit you with storms. Learn to dance in them. And find someone who won’t melt next to you. Or let you take all the lightning zaps while they wander off somewhere dry.

Then comes Fall—my favorite season of all time. The colors! The cozy sweaters! The crisp air that smells like apples and hope (except those farms using liquid fertilizer… which smells like the opposite of hope). Pumpkin patches, harvest time, leaves crunching under your feet like nature’s bubble wrap.

And sure, I complain about raking. But it counts as cardio—(count those steps… 1, 2, 3, now switch sides because we don’t want to be unbalanced)—so honestly, I’m winning.

Then…

Here comes Mr. Winter, stomping in like he owns the place. And here? He does—for six FLIPPING MONTHS. Sorry. He and I go way back, and it hasn’t gotten any better. I’m working on it… really I am.

The first snowfall? Magical. Gorgeous. Postcard-worthy. He sprinkles that white dust on the trees and dresses them up like they’re heading to a gala. But then… something happens. Something about Winter and a bad relationship vibe. Maybe that’s just my analogy. Maybe it’s not.

I do like it for Christmas, though. I’m a northern girl—snow is required by emotional law. A green Christmas feels like someone forgot to finish the assignment. But then when the assignment has a due date? Winter just keeps adding pages no one asked for.

No. Absolutely not.

Six months of winter is disrespectful.

It’s rude.

Nobody needs that much cold unless they’re a penguin or trying to keep food frozen during a power outage.

And the ice? Really? I can only watch Frosty get decapitated by a snowplow so many times before I start losing my holiday spirit and my will to shovel.

…Well. Nope. I’ll keep that thought to myself.

As for Mr. Winter? Joke’s on him. I don’t plan on sticking around to shovel his crap—I mean snow. In a few years, I’ll be sitting in the sun while he moves on to make someone else’s life miserable.

But really… isn’t that how life works?

We have our seasons—the ones we celebrate, the ones we suffer through, and the ones where we’re like, “Okay I’m tapping out… who do I speak to about a refund?”

There’s always something shaking the snow globe, messing with our peace.

But eventually… we have to ask:

Is it someone else doing the shaking?

Or are we just handing them the snow globe?

For a long time, I lived in a dysfunctional freeze.

Stuck. Foggy. Tired.

Detached like my soul hit the “close tab” button.

Half the time I felt like I was floating outside my body, watching myself function like some kind of half-charged robot.

Why do I feel like this?

Why am I numb?

Why am I exhausted even after sleeping?

Why does life feel like it’s happening around me, not with me?

I spent years there.

But here’s what I’m learning now:

I don’t have to feel like this.

You don’t have to feel like this.

We don’t have to feel like this.

Sometimes, waking up starts with one tiny thought:

“What if there’s more for me than surviving winter forever?”

I live in a place where winter lasts six months, the rain has commitment issues, and life keeps shaking my snow globe. Somewhere between dancing in storms and cussing out Mr. Winter, I finally learned the big lesson: stop giving people the snow globe if you don’t want them shaking it.

Sidebar: Shake Your Own Snow Globe

Seasons are a lot like relationships:

Winter—cold and miserable A.F.

Rain—indecisive and moody, definitely has commitment issues.

The way I see it, we have two options:

• Keep recycling that chaos…
  Or…

Throw on your superhero gear (sippy cup and beverage of choice in hand)

Take a deep breath

Buckle up, embrace the chaos, and stop handing out your snow globe

Shake it however you want—yup, even if you look like a lunatic!

Make it fun, and let everyone else figure out their own mess.