I need a snow day...

Snow days are these remarkable resets, a time for reflection, a time for family, a time to remember the most important basics...

Dear Wonderful Friends,

I need a snow day…

When I was a kid, snow days were my favorite. Not only did we not go to school, but we had real, hard, important work to do: clear the driveway, unbury the windows, bring in firewood, keep the fire stoked, make cookies, warm up, watch movies, eat said cookies. All of it felt so important. All of it took the whole family’s effort.

When we were young, my sisters and I were tasked with shoveling out windows so the ground floor could have daylight. This required snow-suiting up, slogging through waste deep drifts, dragging shovels, guarding against unloaded roof snow, then very carefully shoveling precariously toward and away from the double-pane windows that separated my mom cooking in the kitchen from the cold tempestuous winter storms outside.

I loved it.

When I was old enough, I helped snowblow the driveway, sometimes taking the 5am shift to help my family get to school and work on time. This was real, hard, important work. And it made me feel responsible, valuable, alive…

Ten-foot-tall snowbanks concaving in at my childhood home in Tahoe…

I don’t live in such deep snows anymore, and I miss it. Last night we got 5 inches, a laughable dusting compared to my childhood home, but enough to shut this town down. And here I am, sitting at my computer on this beautifully snowglobey day with so much love and joy to be thankful for, and yet my anxiety is through the roof.

Recently, I quit Instagram. Years ago, I deleted Facebook and I’ve never been on Twitter. I’ve always adamantly refused to support Amazon, and now, even this platform, Substack (the app form at least), is stressing me out.

My mind is so occupied with devastating news cycles, wondering: Where do I fit in? What can I do? What’s going to happen? That I’m forgetting to be present in my own life.

Snow days often meant the power went out, so we did our homework by candlelight. We played card games. We asked annoying questions on repeat: “What do you want to do? Want to play a game? Want to go outside?” We filled up the bathtub in case the pump stopped working. We applauded my mom for cooking chocolate cake and cornbread in tin cans on the woodburning stove. Without the internet and cell phones, life truly was simpler.

Most notably, the dire news stories of the day were paused. We all paused. Snow days were these remarkable resets, a time for reflection, a time for family, a time to remember the most important basics: food, shelter, play, cookies…

Our rental house in Incline Village when we were too cheap to pay for plow service and hand shoveled during a record-breaking snow year, 2015-16.

I know that now is not the time to put our heads in the sand. I know there are people–people braver than I–who are actively standing up for our rights, our country’s dignity, a fair democracy. But when I think about what I can do? I’m tempted to write, to add my voice to the clutter, to share my own underinformed opinions about what I believe is right or wrong. To read endless headlines until my heart withers. But what I should be doing is focusing on what I have control over. So I’m going inward. I’m taking a snow day…

Once we had so much snow, we didn’t go to school for a month. We didn’t have power for nearly two weeks. We lived simply, carefully. Whatever high school drama I was caught up in at the time had dissipated (this was pre-cell phone, pre-internet), and we’d forgotten our petty squabbles. We’d been gifted a reset. This is what quiet time and solitude does for you. It allows you to remember who you are, what’s really important to you.

I need a snow day.

From this political nightmare and gut-wrenching reality.

I need to find my balance so I can care for the people around me. I need to clear away others’ voices so my own can crystalize. I need to let go my anxieties and understand what I can and cannot control.

I cannot control what’s happening in D.C. right now, but I can control how much noise I take in. How well I stay grounded. How much I let the drama absorb me. Even if all I can offer is compassion, that is a valuable form of resistance.

I’m stepping away from the online chatter, which I neither want to contribute to nor consume. I’m disengaging from strangers and clickbait to re-engage with people in my actual life: family, friends, neighbors. I’m going to stay informed with what my city council and local government officials are doing to protect my community. I’m not going to feel guilty about ignoring this hour’s national headlines if it means reducing my own anxiety. I’m going to take the time to listen quietly to myself and to fortify.

Because when the skies clear and the snows melt away, I want to have a clear mind. I want to be certain of who I am and what I believe in. I want to look up, breathe deeply, and be present in the physical world.

Sometimes I feel like this shed…

So I’m pausing my newsletter until the noise settles, until it feels right for me to write here again. If you’re a paid subscriber, I’m auto-pausing all subscriptions so you won’t be charged until I come back. I’m so grateful for your support and your patience, and I’ll still be writing quietly in the background, trying to recenter myself.

I hope you find your snow day. I hope you take the opportunity to find some quiet in your life, even if just for an hour, a day. Release yourself from feeling guilty or uninvolved or uninformed. Consider reducing the noise and instead focus on what you can control. Find value in your own form of resistance.

Until next time,

Meghan