Snow Days or How I Know I’m an Adult

After graciously waiting for the highest secular holy day to kick-off Sunday night, winter has returned with a one-two punch to the east coast.  4-6 inches of overnight snow caused schools to stay closed on Monday and after a brief Tuesday reprieve, a new storm added ice to the equation and gave us a second snow day this week. I teach tennis at a club; generally speaking, when school is closed, so are we.

Since I only work four hours on Tuesdays, when I arrived to work on Thursday, it felt like I’d hardly worked at all this week. I did make productive use of my time and waited until 6pm before turning to Netflix for my Sherlock fix.  In fact, I worked hard on several new essays and tried pitching them to magazines and websites. The thought crossed my mind that I should be starting a new draft of the novel–is it possible to procrastinate from writing by writing? Maybe that’s just the definition of a disciplined writer.

Being inside for hours on end led to some stir-craziness. While snow makes travel dangerous, it provides impetus for exercise.  Now, my workout actually serves a purpose.  I’m not just running three miles to run run three miles back to my house.  The snow keeps me cooped up, but just went I’m bursting at the seams; I can throw on my ski pants, grab a shovel, and get to work. It might be cold when I start, but half a driveway later, my heart is pounding, and I’ve been transformed into a sweaty, happy mess.

As a kid, I dreaded being forced to shovel. I JUST WANT TO PLAY. When my mom tried to coerce me into shoveling the neighbors driveway, I railed against capitalism as soul-sucking.  I’M NOT FOR HIRE! Not surprisingly, I also hated  cleaning my room, doing laundry, loading the dishwasher, raking leaves and pretty much every chore my mother made me to do. Now, that I’ve grown, I found it a mild surprise how much I protested shoveling snow as  kid.

I thought back to when Casey channeled Blink-182 to ask what’s my age again, which ended with her wondering how other people knew they’d grown.

Sure, we got the obvious answers of paying bills, being exhausted at the end of the workweek, and not being able to party two nights in a row. But finding joy in required task–snow shoveling, treating your car to a wash, making a great dinner for yourself, is how we know we’re grown-up.


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