Snow

There are two things I know people hate:

1. The Rain

2. The Cold

I grew up in Tucson, AZ. For those of my Dear Readers who do not know, Tucson is in the desert, and there is little to no precipitation. Winter for me was 30 degrees with no wind chill in the morning and evening and 40 to 50 degrees during the day. Unlike the majority of the world, I never really had to deal with the rain or the cold.

When I moved to Nashville, I discovered that rain could actually feel cold.

What a concept

The two most hated parts of weather actually could come together.

It actually came as quite a shock to me that the rain could feel so cold. When I was little, I thought that cold rain just turned in to snow. Even when I learned about melting and freezing points, I still thought that the only form of cold water falling from the sky was snow. After all, it rarely rained in the winter growing up, and we all feared the rain for the most part.

Cold rain is real.

And it sucks.

For the majority of my undergraduate career, I would say that cold rain should not exist and that there should just be snow. If there is going to be cold, then it should at least snow. It never really snowed in Nashville, and when it did, the city actually declared a State of Emergency because we couldn’t handle it.

Snow was scary.

Ice was scary.

Cold rain, while it was annoying and shattered the dreams of little Felicity, was safe. I could handle the cold rain.

But there was something about the snow that I could not forget: Snow is beautiful. When it did snow, I would wake up to white powder covering the grass and gazebos of Belmont University with a sense of awe. The whole world was quiet, and the sun reflected beautifully off the supposedly terrifying precipitation.

Snow was beautiful.

And just like that, my childhood self saw the beautiful snow that she dreamed of every winter.

Now here I am in South Bend, IN where it snows quite a bit. It’s freezing, and the wind makes me feel like I am going to fall over. Snow and ice are a real thing. Nearly every day this week I have watched it snow out my window.

And just like every other time, I am reminded of how beautiful the snow is.

The snow is a lot like us. No, I am not talking about the fact that every snowflake is just a little bit different from the last one, although that is a very important point. Everyone is unique and important, and these little aspects to who we are contribute to the lesson that watching the snow has taught me over the past few weeks.

There are parts of our lives that we think do not fit in with the world.

Much like the cold and the rain, we can find aspects of our lives that we think no one will want. We don’t want people to see what we are most interested in, or what we think about a particular political topic, or maybe we don’t like the same type of humor as everyone around us. We have been rejected for these things at one point or another.

The fear of rejection forces us to separate these aspects of our lives from those we do not wish to see them.

Bit by bit we become compartmentalized to fit the world we think we are supposed to be a part of.

People start to see us as the aspect we share with them. We let them feel the cold or the rain so to speak. By compartmentalizing who we are, we force the world to face imperfect versions of who we are. Sometimes we get a hold of ourselves and reveal a tiny bit more of ourselves to those around us. 

By crafting our lives in a way that reflects what we want others to see, we become cold rain.

Even still, that is still only a part of who we are.

After all, snow is just rain and cold with a little bit of something extra (i.e. more cold)

It is only when we are willing to be fully committed to who we are that we can become like the snow, beautiful and awe inspiring and filled with unique pieces frozen together in harmony. When we make this transition, we may not change our day to day lives, but we become something far more beautiful than we ever were before.

I went through this progression myself over the course of the semester.

If you looked at my daily agenda at the beginning of the semester and the end of the semester, you would not see very many differences. If you looked at my text threads or heard my topics of conversation, you would be surprised at how similar they are. If you looked at my most recently played playlists on Spotify, there would be little change in the genre. Basically every aspect of my life seems to be back to what it was at the beginning of the semester.

It’s as if nothing happened.

Clearly that is not the case. Otherwise I would not be writing this post to you Dear Readers. So here’s the story:

At the beginning of the semester, I was particularly good at compartmentalizing my life. I knew who I could talk to about Jesus, and I knew who I could be excited about papers around, and I knew to only talk about my lab when the other lab members weren’t around. I was perfectly happy in my own little bubbles, keeping myself together day by day.

Weeks went on, and I wanted to connect to more people.

So I attempted to share my life a bit more.

Now, my life is amazing and happy and nearly spotless. I have no alcohol in my system, and I haven’t really had a “crazy night” like most of the people around me. To be happy all the time was annoying to most of my cohort, and by speaking in layman’s terms about science made me look less intelligent. So I tried to shift my personality around to fit the group.

I tried to keep my childishness away

I tried to talk about science and my family and other important things a little less.

I attempted to be “an adult.”

My class participation in my favorite class went from frequent to distant. I cried more in those months than I had cried in five years. I didn’t talk about science, even though I really wanted to. I spent more and more time analyzing life than I did living it. As a result of trying to be “an adult," whatever I thought that I meant, I became cold rain. 

No one likes cold rain.

Before I went home for Thanksgiving, the Bio Girls had a little hangout. I was shocked to find out that one of the girls had said that she was excited because, “Felicity is finally going to be happy.”

Felicity means happiness.

I had not been happy. 

This forced me to look at myself. What I thought had been a mature adult had actually been a stubborn child, pretending she knew what she wanted with her life. I knew better than to be serious all the time, and I knew that I was meant to be a scientist. I was homesick because I didn't talk about my family every day like I normally did. How could I have forgotten so much about myself in such a short amount of time?

Yes, I did have to heal from some silly things that one of my undergrads called me out on for dwelling on it too much.

Yes, I did have to handle new challenges that coincide with graduate school.

But I was still Felicity.

And as I said, Felicity means happiness. I knew that in order to be happy, to be my true self, that I was going to have to be the skipping around the basement, Jesus loving, science obsessed, family oriented, intelligent, and happy woman that God made me to be.

That week, I baked for the first time since September 14, and I prepared for my cell biology lecture with more enthusiasm and joy than I had in months. I got excited about using enzymes like SexAI with my mentee, and I spent time outside of the lab, just walking around in the fresh fall breeze.

And suddenly I was succeeding.

My advisor said he was proud of my work, and I was dancing in the hallways. My friends were talking to me about my lab work and showing me their own. My roomie and I have never been closer.

Surprisingly enough, I was not doing anything different than I was at the beginning of the semester. I still have COS-7 cells in the incubator, and I am still over-excited by the papers in class. I still make the same meals and do the same workouts.

But I am not the cold rain anymore.

I am happier now in this little basement than ever before. It may look like I am doing the same things, but joy and peace I feel make each moment all the more beautiful. I am more beautiful in this place than I was back in September. 

It just took a perfect combination little science, a little childishness, and a lot of love from a family that I am extremely blessed to be a part of.

I am the snow.