It’s day 5 of snow in the Pacific Northwest. Here’s the visual summary for the majority.
This was truer for my mom than for me (she was snowed in alone, I had a partner there). I was snowed in with Parker who, unsurprisingly, did not take the easy route and continued to go to work. My mom and I have been sifting through the past, and by that, I mean a large amount of my grandmother’s stuff (every report card from her grade school years and 4 thank you letters from the White House, to name a few). My grandmother died over 10 years ago, and we’re still looking through it all. My mom gifted me a bag of whoos-its and whats-its that Ariel would straight up cut a stranger for the opportunity to sing about. I learned that my great-grandfather walked 5 miles in Midwestern snow to my great-grandmother’s house. I am positive my husband would do the same. Whether I would or not is debatable and contingent on several variables.
I have left the house, but only to allow the dog to relieve herself in a spot that is not the carpet. I have not traveled sufficiently outside my apartment bubble for approximately 4 days. I would never try to achieve my writing as Jack from The Shining does in the mountains (I knew this long before I watched the film), but on the flip side, I’m doing slightly better than I think some people are. Were I still living with my parents, I would probably be on my billionth sentence starting with “All work and no play…” or writing RED RUM on the walls or in search of an ax. I think we’re all glad that isn’t the case, and I feel for those who are stuck inside with their parents or children.
However, things are starting to return to normal, and while financially, I am grateful for this, I am also a bit disappointed.
Revisiting the work of J.M. Barrie, I see now that Peter Pan could only ever have been written by an adult. As a child, I couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to resist growing up. The mystery behind adulthood, if it’s done right, convinces children that grown-ups, like blondes, have more fun. While your parents are working with you like hostage negotiators trying to coax you to bed, their friends sit on your couch, sip a beverage you’re not allowed to have, and anticipate gossip after you go to sleep. This is very enticing. You’re missing all these stories! Late night television! Going places by age you can’t go now! It’s very appealing.
Admiral Ackbar knows it’s a trap.
Then it happens. You go from hoping it will snow so you don’t have to go to school to fearing and outwardly renouncing the inevitable weather since you’ll still have to go to work (most likely). You have to make decisions where the outcome will result in you still not having fun. Right now, I’m being forced to choose how I will receive bills and notifications of payment. Should I pick the paperless option where my eyes will gloss over it in my email, or should I choose the option where I pick it up with the rest of my mail and leave it on the counter for weeks? Either way, I still have to pay it, but now I’m forced to use my critical thinking to determine which mode of communication I will ignore the LEAST, and it occurs to me that I never thought adulthood would be like this.
It was supposed to be glamorous. It was supposed to be like Beverly Hills 90210, which I never WATCHED but seemed awesome, or Friends where they never actually went to work, they just sat around drinking coffee.
When all is said and done, I’m glad they tricked me. I think it’s much better to long to be a grown up and then be disappointed by the results than to actively resist growing up and to find out when the time comes that you were right.
Yet, when the snow falls on our homes, and the world looks positively different, I can’t help but remember an afternoon I spent sledding down a hill over and over again with my parents. This place may not be an incarnation of Disneyland, but those little white flakes always remind me to keep magic alive no matter how old you are.