I’ve always hated February. It’s the shortest month, but it drags miserably. The skies are permanently grey, and school becomes monotonous and suffocating. March is more hopeful, but still depressing.
The last few weeks have been a constant battle with endless projects and bad weather. Recently, we’ve had two big snowstorms, after having no snow at all during December and January. I will never cease to find falling snow magical, but adulthood makes the aftermath much less so. Freezing fingers, salty boots, icy roads, unplowed parking lots, terrible drivers, dirty slush, frizzy hat hair . . . it’s hardly pleasant.
I’m the type of person whose mood can brighten over the smallest things, but it takes effort to notice those things. Sometimes I forget, and during my breaks I sit in fluorescent hallways, play stupid games on my phone, and stew over my busy schedule. But sometimes I go outside and find a feather covered in water droplets, and everything starts to look up.
Earlier this semester, I was zipping down the road while munching a strawberry pop-tart and listening to classical music. The contrast between my breakfast and radio station suddenly struck me as hilarious, and that small moment has stuck in my head for weeks, just because I consciously appreciated it for a few seconds.
The smallest things can keep you afloat. Notice them, then tell yourself “This small thing is beautiful. Remember it.“