Lesbian log twenty-one-zero-two-twenty-one
I very much strongly dislike winter. Like. A lot.
I try my utmost best in life to never use the word hate because it is a viciously cruel word at the best of times, so this is as vehement as I get. I despise winter.
I’ve since learned, however, that I can actually dislike winter even more.
You see, when I lived all cozy in my previous family life, I had four men to shovel the driveway when it snowed. Now, alone on my own two weeks out of each month, and in a home that now has an obscenely long and wide driveway, I find myself staring into the barrel all too often of a ridiculous amount of snow to shovel.
I strongly dislike snow. It’s cold. It’s heavy. It causes your car to swerve and wander when you don’t want it to. It piles up and accumulates so you must do something about it. And it’s cold (I realize I mentioned that part before, but it’s significant because I also strongly dislike being cold).
Just this week, it took me more than two and a half hours to shovel said obscenely long and wide driveway and I’ll admit, I was close to tears a few times throughout the ordeal. I’m not in as great a shape as I used to be. My cardio has been lacking and my weight training has been non-existent, so pushing, lifting and flinging was a challenge. However, it wasn’t just the physical exertion that was overwhelming; it was hard for me to reconcile that I will be doing this on my own now. It hit home how much things had changed and how alone I was in that moment. I’ll admit, it sucked.
Nonetheless, I did it. I cleared the whole damn driveway, licked my wounds and collapsed inside.
Two days later it snowed again.
I watched large fluffy flakes fall serenely from the safety of my window as incredulity simmered. Again I would have to shovel the damn driveway. Again I would be confronted by my life choices and how much they had altered my path and my circumstances.
And then I stopped.
I remembered why I had embarked on this path to begin with. The choices I made, while difficult and far-reaching were essential, and despite challenges and hardships, I was here because I answered a siren’s calling. I acknowledged a hidden truth. I stepped into who I was meant to be.
So, if that meant I had to shovel the fucking driveway, then so be it.
I popped in my earbuds, cranked up my music and grabbed the shovel.
Instead of cursing and dreading the experience, I allowed it to teach me patience and perseverance. I chose to let it guide me into tolerance—of myself, my choices and my limitations.
I moved slowly. I didn’t rush. If I felt the swell of impatience grow, I stopped myself and purposefully slowed down. I allowed the experience to teach me gentleness and in doing so, it nurtured a moment of growth.
I came back inside and enjoyed a rewarding cup of hot chocolate. This time wasn’t so bad.
A weather advisory just popped up on my phone—another five to ten centimetres on its way.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, they say. (I once read a card that admitted that was bullshit and I strongly agreed). However, while I am not necessarily stronger, I am determined to not let the microcosm spill over to the macrocosm, and if it does, then I need to change the message.
In other words, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. It’s just snow. Eventually, the season will change, and it’ll all melt. In the end, I’ll survive this ridiculous ordeal, and yes, perhaps begrudgingly, even come away stronger for it.
But regardless next year, I’m paying for snow removal services.
In gratitude,
Marissa xo