Chow Tails: Snowfall

There's something very comforting about tromping through inches upon inches of fresh snow as even more falls down upon me. Honestly, I've never been so aggravated, nor have I ever slipped so much walking merely a few miles. The snow is so wet here. It's as if there is a layer of snow, covered in a layer of ice, covered in another layer of snow, all kept together by slush. No one could have prepared me for the absolute frustration that pulses through my body daily, as if Boston and I are locked in a carefully choreographed dance that I don't know the steps to, leaving me panting while the city moves gracefully to the rhythm of her own song.

It feels good, though, to have a tangible, existential problem. Like perhaps struggling against the forces of nature makes it easier to struggle against this large stone that weighs upon my chest. The death of my grandfather has hooked into something deep --our final conversations, his place in my life, the fact that he was so proud of me, all of this is stirring round in circles within me.

And with all these heavy thoughts and many dreams, something about the snow cools my temper and soothes my heart. The cold allows me to turn inwards without losing myself in the abyss.

I've been unsettled by my grieving process. At moments, I get upset, but then I calm myself. At others, I feel that I should be upset, but I'm not, so I try to work myself up. And, then there are moments out of the blue where I break down in public. No matter what I feel, I long to feel something different--to cry or to stop crying.

I keep returning to the words a wise man recently told me, "It's not what if, but what is." This sentiment echoing in my mind, Florence + the Machine pumping through my headphones, trudging through the white powder and slush, I can breathe a little easier. And, if I forget to do so, there are a million little snowflakes landing upon my face to remind me that it's as simple as inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

-Sierra