If you ask me what season I prefer over the others, my answer is and will always be Autumn. It's not too hot, and not too cold. I can pile on layer after layer and pack away those dreadful shorts.
When you ask me about snow though, my nose scrunches up into a bundle of twisted wrinkles. Like I've tasted something sour. I immediately start to shiver and think to myself, "If we don't get snow by Christmas, I don't wanna see it."
It's obnoxious and gets into crevices and cracks. Cars get stuck and you leave a trail of footprints everywhere making it impossible for a game of outside hide and seek (because this is still a thing of importance at the age of 24).
And good grief it makes me lazy. The fluffy little specks of wintery dust render me completely useless. Snow has magical sleepy time powers, Tilda Swinton proves my theory in the Chronicles of Narnia.
So yeah, not really the biggest fan of this stuff. But for some reason, when I woke up this morning (after I searched frantically for some socks because it was COLD AS HECK) and looked outside my eyes got all big and I gasped. One of those big grins that reach all the way from one ear to the other stretched across my face and for once in a long time I was happy that our neighborhood was covered in this blanket of white dust.
I'll spare you the dramatic details, but 2015 nearly took me under.
I consider myself to be a strong person, so admitting that I've had a rough run is like letting people see what's beneath the so called S plastered on my chest. Underneath all that tight stretchy spandex is just my alter ego...the girl with the glasses and crooked smile. Without my armor I feel vulnerable and exposed. EXTREMELY uncomfortable to say the least and always on edge.
There were times this year I thought my anxiety would completely drown me. Emptiness and sadness would feed on my heart whenever I wanted to be happy. It got harder for me to sort through certain daily activities and on a good night I'd get maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep. I felt like my brain was going to turn to mush and literally slip out of my skull. I didn't know how my head was supposed to hold it all together.
Through all of this I slowly started to learn that trying to be my own hero wasn't working. I would need to bring in back up. The big guns. Other heroes and sidekicks and the quirky friends that those heroes always had to make this thing called life work.
I needed my own May Parker and Mr. Tumnus.
This is as mushy as I'll ever get on this blog I swear. But I've noticed that allowing people to see me without my so called costume as I repair a few things in my life is OK. I'm not perfect so why try so hard to appear that way?
Seeing the yard this morning all covered in snow was like God reminding me of how simple life can be when you allow yourself to start over.
"Go ahead Patience, give yourself permission to share your innermost thoughts and dreams, even the really painful ones. Especially the painful ones. Mess up a little. Cry a little (only for 5 minutes, thug life). Learn a lot. And laugh harder. Relax when you're tired and work your butt off for your dreams. Actually DO your dreams. Start fresh. Your costume will be hanging in the closet when you need it most"