Tag: growing up

What Do You Do With Your Time?

When I was a kid, the thing I wanted to be when I grew up was an “everyologist.” I wanted to do everything: science, literature, travel, architecture, painting, history. A five-year-old can easily imagine doing all those things. After all, he has all the time in the world. When a single year is one-fifth your total lifespan, the future stretches out to infinity.

Of course, our lives aren’t infinite, and as we grow up we learn that we don’t have all the time we want. I’m not an “everyologist,” though I do maintain a variety of interests and love to learn new things. I focus on my writing, my job, being with friends, reading, and living quietly. The more I learn I can’t do everything, the more I learn to focus on what I actually find worth doing.

I’d probably be a lousy architect, for one. And I’ve toyed with the visual arts, but it doesn’t hold my attention like writing does. And hey, I can always cheat: the Internet has lots of ways to learn and explore without actually, well, doing anything. It’s something, right?

But the Internet itself takes up our time (yes, I am aware of the irony of that statement on a blog). Too much? Well, that’s up to you. What else do you hope to do today?

All that being said, something else I’ve learned in life is that I have a lot more time than I sometimes suspect. It’s the things I feel I have to do – little things, like finish this book by such-and-such a date, or catch up on that TV series everyone is talking about – that eat away at our “free” time. It’s not really free if we treat our hobbies as a strange set of obligations. A career is one thing, but entertainment quite another. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that viewing our lives from new angles reveals that we don’t need much to fill up our time in a satisfying way.

I’m not a master of everything, and I’m okay with that. I have time enough for what I enjoy.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Snow and Me: A Complicated Relationship

Winter is approaching fast, and that means snow is on the way where I live. And snow means a clean split between those shivering with excitement and those groaning in despair.

Snow is weird. You want to paint a happy picture of winter fun? Throw in some snowmen and snowballs and snow forts. Want to paint a picture of a barren wasteland? Take OUT the snowmen and snowballs and snow forts.

Snow is great until it isn’t. Making snow angels and trekking through knee-deep drifts is all well and good until the melt seeps into your pants and you can’t feel your toes anymore. Or your fingers. Or your nose and ears. Hey, look! My pinkie just froze and snapped off! Isn’t this FUN?

Look at this magical winter world
Image by Bonnie Moreland; Public Domain Mark 1.0.

When I was a kid, I loved snow. Snow meant days off school and winter play and running around trying to come up with new ways to use the stuff. I loved playing in it and rolling huge snowmen. Well, more like snow boulders. We would just roll a bunch of big uber-snowballs and leave them scattered across the field. And I have fond memories of watching snow slipping off the tallest tree branches during the thaw. Snow is fun – when you don’t have responsibilities.

Nowadays, I prefer to stay inside and enjoy it from a safe distance.

You see, kids don’t have to drive in snow. Or walk down to the mailbox in it. They might have to shovel the driveway, but pay them in cash or candy and they’re happy enough. Too bad adults can’t pay themselves for cracking their spines lugging shovelfuls of very heavy frozen water. Growing up is a terrible thing, sometimes.

Ah, yes, snow is water. Which means it melts. And that brings on the SLUSH. Nobody ever mentions SLUSH when discussing winter. It’s a wintry wonderland, happy and clean and pretty! And then it all turns to SLUSH. Dirty, half-melted bogs of detritus covering roads and pooling in every yard and gutter. The aftermath of winter.

There are people who never see snow, for whom the concept is a distant fantasy. These people probably enjoy snow very much because they never have to deal with it. Snow is a pleasant image on TV screens and picture books and never, ever interferes with their lives. They can safely imagine what it would be like to be in the snow without having to actually endure it.

SOMEONE has to clean up this mess …
Image by jpctalbot; CC BY 2.0.

Yeah, you grow up and little fun things become big pains. Alas. But, snow IS pretty, I’ll give it that. And freshly fallen snow is one of the purest, cleanest things you can see in the world. And the morning after a snowfall is so quiet and peaceful and contemplative. Or eerie and spooky if you’re so inclined.

To all the people who live in regions where there is snow most, if not all of, the year, hats off to you. You are tougher and more patient than I am. I would say that snow only belongs in regions uninhabited by all life, but since humanity always seems keen on colonizing the most desolate and inhospitable regions on Earth, I guess that bus has long since passed. At least some people know how to make really pretty art out of it.

Snow is just weird. It’s this twisted dichotomy of life and death. Snow-covered landscapes are either joyful, festive scenes or just pits of death. Maybe a person’s changing attitude toward snow is some sort of reflection of our changing nature from childhood into adulthood.

Or maybe we’re all crazy and should just stay inside where it’s warm.

Enjoying my blog? Don’t want to miss a single post? Subscribe for updates on when I post and follow my writing career, musings on fiction and storytelling, and reflections about life in general!

Title Image: “snowman” by Dan’l Burton; Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.