The weather in Las Vegas hasn’t been magical lately.
The winds bluster against my house and whistle through the windowpanes. They threaten to lift my house from its foundation and blow it to a strange land. I’d much rather have the snow that a close friend of mine in Georgia is experiencing. In the videos she sends me, she timidly peers out of her apartment window and, later, steps outside, the world blanketed in freshly fallen snow. Baby blues, blood reds, and pine greens peek out, hinting at the hidden world below.
There’s something about the blank slate of snow that makes it magical. It provides an immediate escape for one’s thoughts. The snow becomes a well of endless possibilities. There’s a softness to it that would work best for where I am right now—desperately in need of gentleness to ease the roughness churned up by some of my latest projects.
I won’t have that type of weather here any time soon.
Instead, I zip up my coat, pull my hood on, and go outside to brace against the wind—which isn’t gentle. It stings. It pushes me in directions I don’t want to go. I don’t much care for the dust that scratches my face nor the plastic bags and yellowed grocery flyers that whip in the air. There’s not much of any escape. Reality is constantly blowing against my face.
But I still stand in it, just closing my eyes and letting the gusts carry me and my thoughts away. When I feel like playing I try to kick a soccer ball around. It takes extra focus and skill to keep it (and myself) from flying aimlessly, but I have fun just the same. Whatever I’m worrying about, I let it out and it gets lifted up on the winds with the debris and the leaves or gets lost in the back and forth across my backyard.
When I come back inside, I am invigorated. Everything I was carrying with me worked itself out and my mind is its own blank slate.
While I would prefer the softness of the snow, the wind is teaching me to stand tall. To endure. To use what’s been given to me.
Not every moment of our lives is inherently magical. If you’re in a place now where there’s more wind than soft snow, remember the magic we’re searching for sometimes comes from just working with what we’ve got.
What I Read:
The Yellow House
Sarah M. Broom
Black Was Not A Label
Kathryn H. Ross
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 8 Vol. 1
The Long Way Home
Joss Whedon and Georges Jeanty
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 8 Vol. 2
No Future For You
Brian K. Vaughan, et. al.
*featured image by Vikas Sawant on Pexels.com