Of course it’s snowing. The hot tub is overflowing with people; indistinct chatter but energetic and full of life. The group watching a movie upstairs also clearly full of life evidenced by the occasional bursts of laughter. K seems like the only one who’s in the same mood as I am. We sit still by the fireplace, immersed in the sound of others’ lives and the soreness of multiple days of skiing.

It’s still snowing. I am restless. How quickly the beautiful snow has turned into an object of frustration it’s still snowing and I don’t understand why I’m upset and I know it has to be snowing right now because it wouldn’t make sense otherwise. Somebody is typing away on their laptop. The sounds of the hot tub are quieter, their conversation punctuating instead the running water of multiple showers. In a few hours the house will fall quiet again. I write this now so that I can remember this moment in the future, yet I know my efforts to immortalize this reality I experience will fail; we must try, nonetheless, knowing that one day memory will blur and this will be all that’s left. My gaze returns to the snow. Who knows how many minutes have passed by between these sentences.

It’s so beautiful to be young. It won’t be many years before the AirBnBs we squeeze into become family-friendly resorts where, at best, we stay in neighboring rooms. The energy here is infectious. For now, we believe we are invincible. I feel the vibration of the air, saturated with vitality. I tell myself I can even hear it as I slowly melt into the arm-chair watching the snow fall outside onto the heads of those still in the hot tub. The beauty of the present taunts me like that butterfly we saw in the corner of our eyes leaving the cafe that day, like meeting the gaze of the most beautiful girl in the world only for her to disappear into the crowded sidewalk. I melt deeper into the arm chair and I am no longer upset.

It’s still snowing a couple hours later. I know it is because I’m now standing outside feeling snowflakes kiss my cheeks. My shoes are wet my hoodie is wet my jeans are wet and my eyes are wet, blinking away the snow. I sought out the constellations but they are hidden behind clouds tonight. Briefly, I feel the concurrence of the thousand lives I have lived before this and the next thousand that I will live, all together looking to the stars for guidance. I am preoccupied with trivial matters, but aren’t we all? Isn’t it curious how we can love so deeply something as insignificant and impermanent as the snowflake?

The snow finally stops sometime past midnight when I am stretched out, asleep, in the lower bunk.

bye bye, big sky

Back in New York it’s not snowing at all, it’s actually rather warm already. The onset of spring has me feeling nervous and excited. I feel that my whole life has been building up to this. Not saying this is the peak, but I feel as if I am finally, genuinely, living life. I’ll miss the constellations, but I’ve come to love the city’s unending brightness.

Here I am at a random cafe deep in the Bronx with no plans for the rest of the evening. Are those Russian accents? Slowly the sensation returns to my fingers; perhaps overeager for spring I underdressed today and fell victim to the wind. It has been what feels like an incredibly long winter. I can’t remember the last time I left the house without a jacket. I still think about that day, the morning after, when you buttoned up my coat for me, worried I’d get cold. Winter was my favorite season growing up but now I love the summer.¹ I previously wrote that, since moving to new york, my life is like high school again: “Class” from 8:30 to 4:30 and the same hobbies as before. Just over two years later, I now feel that my life could not be more different from what it used to be.

I’ve come to embrace what I used to hate: sweating through my clothes, getting caught in the rain, the misery of heartbreak. I love the warmth of the sun. I love being near the water. Dear reader, maybe after reading all my writing you’ll disagree, but I’ve become a real optimist these days! In that previous article I also wrote that “[life] is a game I would play again.” I think everyone spends their life justifying it to themselves – why they play the game. I’m obviously still figuring this out for myself, though inside I feel as if I already know the answer.² Well, like any other game, once you pick up some momentum, it gets pretty damn fun.