My suitcases are already packed and the two boxes I shipped, with miscellaneous items that decorate ones life, have already arrived. The only thing left to go is ME.
And while the people around me flood me with repetitive and dubious questions of, “Jen are you ready?” “Is your freshly baked skin going to survive the cold weather?” “Is this where you really want to move?” Their statements become comic book bubbles that float over my head as I try on my down “parka” and match up 30 pairs of knee socks! Socks, i tell ya! We hardly wear those where i come from.
Sure, I have meddled in some unusual weather conditions before. As a native Floridian, hurricanes and tropical storms became a routine. “Hurricane Moesha is coming? Put out the flashlights, load up on the canned tuna fish, get the clock radio out of the garage”. The usual.
And I was living in Los Angeles in 2010, to celebrate the city beat a record for the hottest day ever recorded, at a whopping 113 degrees. I made it through in an air condition-less house by overdosing on jugs of water and hugging on, for dear life, to a plug in fan.
But, the last time I tried to see snow was when I was a measly three years old. My dad pumped me up for an adventure to our local park in sunny south Florida…in December… for a winter wonderland event where they were having snow shipped in for the day [When really i think they just made some sort of ice connection that would pass the standard test for a 3 year old]. Eager as could be, I became a tasmanian devil around the house picking up items that i would use to make a snowman. I packed a cotton scarf, buttons, and a carrot for the nose that i would place on the snowman after i spent the first half an hour rolling around and maybe even trying a taste of the white balls of ice.
I waited patiently, sucking down an apple juice box, until it was my turn to come face to face with this weather madness that i saw displayed before my eyes only on cartoons and in cut up paper snowflakes during art class.
When i approached the fence a man stopped me right in my tracks. “It had all melted”, he said, “No more snow for today”.
That was, without a doubt, one of the coldest and saddest days of my life.
I’ll admit it. From that day on i gave up trying or wanting to see snow. I became a sunny side up lover who found nothing wrong with the perpetual state of wearing a two piece bathing suit and reeking of sun screen.
So, when people ask me if i am ready, ready to pick my life up and move it to the infamous NYC in the dead of the winter, I glance at them dead straight in the eye balls and say, “Yes, yes i am”.
That was until i was watching the news this morning and got a friendly text message from my buddy in NYC confirming the enviable, the “just my luck” moment that seems to always bite us in the tush when we try to get things in line. SNOW! TWO INCHES OF SNOW! gracing NYC upon my arrival tomorrow morning.
Never get too comfortable, in anything you do. In your job, in the place you live, in the day to day routines that bog you down. Because comfort can be blinding. It can be a measure of time wasted and It can be detrimental to your personal growth. When we get too comfortable we stop moving, we stop changing, we simply stop living.
This is my mantra, this is what I will be grunting under my cold breath as I stand, frozen like a delicate ice sculpture, standing lost in the middle of New York City starting tomorrow.
Goodbye, Florida. Hello New York. I am as ready as I ever will be for you, even if you greet me with a nice big ball of ice slapped on to my sun burnt face!