Due to blizzard warnings and a torrent of snow, we had a “snow day” last week. Yes, children and parents together united in fun over the forced incarceration at home. One person, whose relationship will remain nameless, nonetheless went to work. We attribute that to the fact that he drove a Suburban, which can leap snow drifts in a single bound and never gets stuck. We mere mortals had to stay home.
I loved it. The unexpected day off was a bonus. Good company was a bonus. But there was more to it. Some people may have gotten a bit stir-crazy, but not me. I so seldom get a day to just RELAX. It was as if the snow forced me to let go of my home to-do list, which wasn’t scheduled to get worked that day, since I was supposed to be at the office working that to-do list. With no pressure to accomplish anything like laundry, vacuuming, reading, writing, meditating, etc., I could just enjoy myself. So I did. What a concept.
I snuggled the dogs and cats, made soup to make the house smell good, and hung out with one of my favorite (similarly home-bound) people. The snow seemed to bathe the whole house in a hushed reverence that we don’t see to often. Suddenly, I could only think of introverted activities that nurtured me. Nothing else came to mind. When the sun came out a couple of days later, it was off to the races. But not on a snow day. I’d like to say I became a kid again and played in the snow, but that seemed like too much effort. It seemed too task-oriented. It was like I became the kind of adult I’d love to be more often, but just can’t seem to swing it. You know, the kind that’s totally centered on being happy, rather than accomplishing things.
It was nice, if just for a day. Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to be when I grow up. Contented.