Fences.

I said I wasn't going to write about the snow.  It's all anyone in the New England area is talking about, thinking about, and dealing with, so why write yet another essay about what's already on every one's mind?  It is bloody cold.  The snow won't melt.  Cars are left unshoveled, buried under ridiculous mounds of snow, because after blizzard number three or so, those of us lucky enough to not have to drive to and from work everyday, seemed to raise our shovels in a collective "fuck it" motion.  We'll just wait until July to drive again.  Oh, and then there's the T.  No one can take the T anywhere because it is not exactly running all that well.   Or, lately, at all.  It's one thing to be stuck in the suburbs after a storm.  That's sort of what you expect and plan for, right?  But to live an eight minute walk from a major underground subway system and still not be able to get anywhere?  To have the director of Boston's public transportation system announce that Bostonians should NOT take public transportation if they can help it like she did the other week?  End of days.

I was talking with my Dad earlier in the week and made a comment about how if you come face to face with someone on a path, it almost becomes a game of chicken as you wait to see which one of you will step aside first, because there is no way two people can both walk through shoveled out areas at the same time.  To which my father replied: "It's rather telling the dire circumstances when you've taken to calling a city sidewalk a path."

Indeed.

But I wasn't going to write about all of this.

And yet.  Here's the thing with this winter.  These never-ending storms.  These piles, nay, mounds of snow and these crazy massive icicles, bigger than anything I have ever seen in all the years I have called Boston home.  There seems to be a sense of camaraderie this time around, one I have never felt before, despite all the blizzards and Nor'easters we've been dealt winter after winter in Boston.  We are all in this cold, exhausting, frustrating mess together and there's really not much we can do about any of it except wait for it all to melt.  In the meantime, it makes sense that despite the general crankiness that would come with collecting more snow in a single week than Chicago has ever seen in an entire winter, that we behave civilly toward one another; passing along the empathetic nod as we come close to slipping on black ice while walking home, or share in the sentiment of cabin fever and all of us going a touch stir crazy.  This year, I guarantee every New Englander GETS IT.

When I think beyond the piles of snow, I have lately come to realize, with a far greater and deeper understanding of the notion than I had in the past, just how much this idea of all being in it together applies to so many - if not all - aspects of all of our lives.  I think, especially in this age of social media and constant digital connections that it can be so easy to fall into the trap of feeling like everyone has got it together all of the time.  But let's be honest.  None of us really do, right?  We have our highs and lows and in betweens. There are bad decisions made and also very good ones.  We take risks or we don't.  We regret some things, we are thrilled about others.  We get scared or angry or sad or excited or giddy or joyful.      

Adulthood continues to surprise (and sometimes amaze and sometimes disappoint) at every turn.  I can recall how I felt at 18, 20, 25, and reassuring myself that people in their 30's and 40's and beyond must certainly have it all figured out. I would get there one day too, I told myself.  One day I'd just "understand" it all.  Until I realized that none of us will ever really have it ALL figured out, will we?

Not that this is necessarily a bad thing.  As long as we're honest and truthful about it.  I feel the danger comes when we feel we have to act as if we do always have everything sorts, we're not unsure about anything in the slightest.  I am thankful for the people in my life for countless reasons, one being that I've always valued how honest we can be with one another.  My friends and I, we share both our good moments and our dark ones, and I truly think that's a large part of what makes our friendships work.  For it seems we are all right in the thick of it these days, sorting out jobs and contentment and careers and relationships and raising children and pregnancies and all of these experiences that are simultaneously wonderful and terrifying.

I recently listened to an interview with an actor who, when asked how he works with a cast or crew or director, made the comment that one of the things he has learned is to take and use absolutely everything he is given, that whatever a feeling is or a direction that an emotion takes us to isn't ever wrong.  That you can always be just on the edge of everything; you could go anywhere. This actor went on to say, that it is far more important to remember that the way you behave with people is and will always be more important than the work that you do.  That generosity, kindness, and patience will get you so very far; they are essential to the work and process.

And I like that notion, that idea applied to our every day.  We are all here, sitting on these fences in adulthood.  We're almost certainly leaning too far forward or too far back at times, but we're all after the same goal.  We are trying to balance.  I firmly believe, that the large majority of society is trying.  Always trying as hard and as best they can, that they know how.  And we would be nothing without those around us who are balancing too.

Which brings me back to these snowstorms. It has started snowing again as I type.  So here we are, as old man winter throws his mighty force against us yet again, together. In this crazy, wide, wonderful world, we are all here but for the briefest of moments.  In it together; all of us in our own individual ways, watching the snow fall outside our windows.