Let it snow


PHOTO COURTESY PEXELS

I hope to never lose the excitement I still feel at the first sign of snowflakes falling from the sky, a feeling shared, at last count, only by my youngest son and one work colleague.

I’m sure there are more of us out there but they’re keeping a low profile for fear of inciting the wrath of convention.

A late-night drive home from the office this week in the region’s first snowstorm on recalcitrant all-season tires was both nerve-wracking and invigorating, but more importantly, a reminder to pay attention to the fact that the change of seasons does not cater to the timetable of our convenience.

The annual cycle of temperature, environmental, and visual changes should serve to keep us aware of the fact that hey, change happens and we either embrace it and roll with it, or stubbornly stagnate with a comfortable and predictable status quo. Kids and animals instinctively understand this. Adults, not as much.

We live in a province that continually reminds us, regardless on which side of the linguistic fence we fall, that we need to preserve our identity. And we’ve collectively dedicated so much time to this battle that we seem to have forgotten that the notion of identity, when treated with the wide parameters of definition it deserves, is an organic concept, not a black and white label worn on one’s forehead for a lifespan. It is meant to change as we personally evolve.

I grew up as a cat person until I fell in love with a man whose package deal included a lumbering Labrador Retriever named Rufus who very quickly stole my heart. Up until my early 30s, I couldn’t identify with the concept of motherhood until I actually had kids myself and realized what all the fuss was about.

In our university journalism program, we were told to write for an audience based on the assumption they possessed no more than a Grade 10 level education, a notion that made me balk.

Continuing to cater to a de facto model rather than challenge it breeds mediocrity. There’s comfort to be had from returning to a time and place where our first sense of identity was fostered but it should serve as a guide rather than be an anchor.

Identity is not meant to be defined early in life and those that succumb to this misconception impose their own limitations. It’s snowing. If we don’t get out and enjoy it, we’ll be buried in it.

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