Looking out from the train, the trees are a blur and the snowflakes are more like snowstreaks. Looking in from the train, we are all jostled and lulled to sleep. // norway 2018.
During the summers of my middle and high school years, my mom and I would sit down some time in June and make our official “Summer List.” Half of this activity was for the sake of planning out our summer and making sure the three months didn’t go by too quickly. The other half was about using colorful markers and brainstorming every possible fun thing—lots of trips to the pool, adventuring to the State Fair (complete with a secondary list of must-have fair foods), and watching lots of movies.
As fall approached, I was unconcerned about the weather changing or the sun setting earlier and earlier.
It was the looming of the school year and long days in a classroom that had me aching for another ninety degree day spent swimming. It turns out reluctantly dragging myself away from summer schedules was much like peeling myself out of the pool itself.
As my education years waned, the cold weather has become a larger threat. It seems as though life moves quickly and winter (along with the lack of work opportunity that comes with it) appears before I have prepared for it. In years past, as winter has rounded the corner, I would spend a while just looking at it before me, like a train that’s barreling forward. It’s a train that I’m supposed to be on—one of success and good habits—but it has momentum, and it does not stop long enough for me to grab hold. Unprepared, I have tripped, fallen, and tumbled down the hillside next to it, having missed the Winter Success Train entirely. Not only am I stuck walking the rest of the way, but I’ve just signed up for walking uphill.
Preparing the only way I know how, I began to swap out The Summer List for The Winter List. It is a list of habits, books, routines, and ideas. It is a list of goals. It is a list of reminders—to light candles, to call a friend, to roast root vegetables in the oven.
I try my best to find some classes and workshops that are free and of interest. I schedule some tasks for all of the administrative things that come along with working for yourself. Of course, The Winter List also includes many, many books—books about writing and creativity. Books of essays and short stories. Usually, there is at least one book on finance, when every minute spent reading counts as a minute worked. Lastly, I sprinkle in a few lofty goals into the list, usually about ridiculously consistent exercise, journaling with neat handwriting, and frequent walks in the sub-zero temperatures.
This comprehensive list has only come after a few years of vague lists and wavering on when winter really starts. Lately, I’ve been jotting down notes and making unofficial lists of books and projects. I’ve even pushed a few goals off of my autumn plate and into some pyrex to reheat them come wintertime. When the time comes, I will have a plan. The little energy I receive from the few moments of sun on bone-chilling winter days will be spent on doing things—not deciding to do them.
As soon as I see winter rounding the corner (even now), I am gathering my things, as much as I can hold onto from this current summer world. Soon, I’ll start to gallop alongside the Winter Success Train to make sure that when it’s time to grab hold, I can do so with strength. This year, I will gather my books and my routine and my habits and my winter boots and my SAD lamp that I bought way back in September and I will leap onto the train in hopes I can keep my momentum.
"I’ve even pushed a few goals off of my autumn plate and into some pyrex to reheat them come wintertime." - Bahaha! ^^Loved this^^ I also love how this alludes to the idea that I might soon be able to eat my goals for breakfast!
Love this. I jotted a few questions to myself on the side while reading for further percolation. Also how is "SAD lamp" named completely accurately yet also so humorously at the same time? (i have one too <3)