I’ve lived in the same house for the past 18 years. My whole life has been seated between the same four walls and, while that house has truly been a comforting home for me, a few years ago I began to feel like I was missing something. I realized that, even though I was well-traveled, I was lacking exposure to a lot of the world.
One of the things I was missing was a tangible concept of the word “winter.” I lived on the coast of South Carolina and under the impression that 50 degrees Fahrenheit was miserably cold, a denim jacket was suitable outerwear, and the beach was a viable excursion on Christmas.
When I announced to my friends and family that Penn State was my collegiate destination, they were in utter shock and, somehow, they all collectively decided that the best thing to say to me was “it’s cold there.”
I constantly wanted to come back at them with some variation of “duh!” but I usually settled for the close-mouthed smile and shrug. A few months ago, I didn’t realize how relevant their constant cliche would be.
It is cold here.
I arrived in August, to a high temperature of 80, wearing a Penn State t-shirt and my favorite pair of denim shorts. The temperature was similar to what it was at home so I was very puzzled in regard to the exact reason my father insisted upon my need for snow boots and two new Columbia winter coats.
Allegedly, a denim jacket or the old puffer coat from Costco paired with my Converse high tops wasn’t going to cut it here; I didn’t believe it. Why would I? I thought I brought the beach to Pennsylvania with me.
This morning, I woke up to a thick sheet of white snow on the ground and flurries constantly whirring outside of my window. I bundled up heavily and waddled my new-found penguin form to Redifer Commons for breakfast. I ate my eggs and fruit while being consumed by the dread of having to exit the establishment.
In my mind, I am the beach. I’ve lived there my whole life and, because of that, I’ve absorbed all of the sun, sand and salt that there is to offer. I thought I brought the beach to Pennsylvania with me.
I’ve learned that it doesn’t work like that.
Instead of locking myself inside and watching the snow fall onto the imaginary beach I had created, I decided to embrace it. I went sledding.
I realized how beautiful the snow actually is while gliding on top of it. Yes it was cold and wet on my cloth sweatpants and sharp when flying into my eyes. But it was also smooth and refreshing falling on my hair and fun when launching my sled over a jump.
My first winter in Pennsylvania was, and still is, filled with realizations like the fact that I should probably wear gloves when faced with low temperatures and wind chill. When I face it with an open mind, however, I’m learning to embrace the beauty around me, even if it isn’t the one that I’m used to.
Regardless of the discomfort I’ve faced in the cold, and even while I was sliding down HUB lawn on my borrowed sled, the new experiences I’m gaining are enriching the perspective I thought was well-balanced.
Even though snow on the beach is weird, I’ve experienced my own kind of “stars by the pocketful,” when I’ve actually embraced the uncomfortable.