I really don’t mind snowstorms, especially the last two we’ve received. Yeah, I hate the exorbitant bill Xcel will be sending me shortly, but that inconvenience is outweighed by the illusory solitude that inclement weather seems to bring.
Being a solitary creature, I like to venture outside when no one else is around. I enjoy feeling as if I have the world to myself – like I could scream and the only noise I’d hear was the echo of my voice and the beat of my heart.
It is the same feeling I get from a dream in which I keep falling and falling, endlessly – but this time I am standing on an open prairie that stretches to infinity in all directions, so that stepping once or twice moves me no farther forward than it does backward. I’m not propelled to move, in fact, but just to stand there and think while savoring my isolation.
That is what it is like to have the world to yourself.
I suppose there is a sort of lawlessness that appeals to me in that type of solitude. It is similar to being at your elementary school during after-hours. You were free to sprint down the halls and slide on the slippery floors. You could yell and shout, dance – do whatever you wanted without having to worry about prying eyes or fussy administrators.
The world was yours. You’d slide down stair poles, leap off staircases, run aimlessly around in the gym, hop up on the stage, pretend you were Zorro, and then repeat the whole process again until your body said no more.
Those were the times.
Living in south Denver has provided me with few comparable opportunities. Sometimes I go running at night in an attempt to catch a moment of privacy – but the untimely barking of a dog or the obnoxious roaring of a car ruin all feelings of solitude. I’ve tried wearing eye blinders and noise-deferring headphones, but this tactic has proved to be somewhat self-defeating (and even dangerous at times).
Occasionally, if the timing is just right, I can go out at 1 or 2 in the morning, take a stroll around Washington Park, and enjoy the reflection of the moon off the lake without any interruption. Seldom, however, do I ever have enough energy to take such early excursions, and usually I find myself occupied more with yawning than with savoring the peace and quietude.
In the end, however, nothing has beaten a hard-hitting snowstorm. The snow and ice take care of the cars; the cold takes care of the people. And, perfectly, I am left with a world to myself. I can take a step outside, watch the beautiful snowflakes fall, walk in the middle of the road, plunge into the nearest snow heap, and laugh childishly, with the whole experience seeming somewhat surreal.
During these rare moments, I can appreciate the illusory abandonment of the city, and introspect. I get to ask myself all sorts of personal questions whose answers are strictly confidential. I wonder about things I wouldn’t ordinarily wonder about, and imagine and visualize things usually conjured in a dream.
To some, this sort of fantastical outing may seem strangely odd – and it probably is – but to me it is more than just a peculiar, transient fantasy; it is an in-town vacation that happens only a few times a year. And it gives me that much-needed break from the ordinary world without the expense of a large vacation bill.
For that I cannot complain. I don’t mind wearing a coat, beanie and slippers around the house to conserve energy and save on my heating bill. And while I feel for those people who suffered in any way during the recent snowstorms, for me, the weather-induced vacations have been worth it.
Nick Nordstrom (nxixcxk@gmail.com) is a part-time massage therapist and a full-time student at Metro State College majoring in philosophy.
