One of my primary goals and purposes for this blog is to establish the discipline of writing somewhat frequently. I have left the “guidelines” for myself very loose and broad so as not to constrain myself unnecessarily. I don’t have a particular agenda or “approved topics.” What I have found over the years is that through the process of writing, my thoughts and emotions become clearer to me and I can reflect on things more productively and from a more informed and self-aware place. There are almost always quite a few things going on in my brain simultaneously and writing has proven to be a useful vehicle to sort and understand these thoughts.
The following is also an example of something I am trying to task myself with through this practice. Yesterday morning, I wrote the first part about the sensory challenges with snow and my resultant hatred for it. After getting my ideas down on “paper” (read: cellphone screen at 3:30am), I left it at that. Twenty-four hours later, I find that I have a more positive spin on it and I’m disgusted by my whining over something so minor in the grand scheme of things. While I’d like to just erase the whole thing and pretend it never happened, the purpose of my blog is not to come across to myself (or anyone who reads it) as someone who always makes lemonade out of lemons, always shows my “good side,” and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. That’s not me in reality and I therefore, that’s not me in the blog. My single blog guideline is to always be authentic. It can be humbling to read some of your thoughts in the not-so-perfect, far-from-golden moments. It also presents the opportunity to reframe the negative mindset and try to re-approach from a new perspective. While this doesn’t always happen, in this particular instance, just letting the thoughts marinate for a day allowed me the pause I needed to grow a tiny bit more in the direction I expect and desire for myself.
I hate snow. In fact, I can’t remember a time that I liked it, even as a little kid. I can’t stand feeling wet and cold and I have Raynaud’s, so my fingers and toes morph into icy, numb, white, functionless digits once temperatures dip below about 50! Suddenly, I can’t manipulate my hands into any useful conformation and I no longer have any proprioception in my feet. I have no idea where they are below my body, which causes trips and faceplants. It’s the other sensory factors that make snow offensive to my system as well. It’s too loud. While rain is too loud as it’s actually precipitating, and it’s too loud as it mixes with tires into some cacophony of road noise, snow also has a loud soundtrack. Walking through snow, like leaves, is too crunchy. Every single step (in a rhythmic, repetitive way) barks uncomfortably loud to me. That’s the thing about repetitive noises. By the nature of being repetitive, the volume is typically constant, but when you have sensory processing issues, each individual occurrence of the sound mounts on the previous one in a summative fashion, crescendoing into an intolerable mess. For this reason, quiet and gentle snow can also be loud. The irony isn’t lost on me. Snow has a hushed whistling noise as it falls. Flakes with more crystallized water are denser and make a shimmering sound. I have to wear ear plugs under headphones but this does nothing to help muffle the sound of my own “warm” coat bending and swishing. Looking at snow hurts my eyes, not in the put-on-sunglasses-to-block-the-glare kind of way, but in the it’s-too-white-my-brain-is-overloaded way. Here in New England, we have a lot of gray winter skies, days where the cloud cover is so thick that you wouldn’t be able to point to the approximate location of the sun unless you know the time. The sky blends with the old piles of snow, which blend with the gray houses. It’s like an artist commissioned to produce an oil pastel rendering of the landscape takes a couple of colors of gray and then artistically swirls them together with his or her fingers into and indiscernible, abstract piece. My brain doesn’t know what to do with so much white, so much sameness, so instead, it renders itself into a knotted headache. I normally thrive when I’m outside. I have compared myself to a plant before. Scientists say that we are 90% bacterial cells and only 10% human cells. I don’t know if it’s because I am vegan or this is more of an any calls on or this is more of an “n=1: I-am-Amber” situation, but I must be the anomaly at 60% bacteria, 38% plant, 2% human. After all, there have been many moments of differentness and loneliness where I wonder if I am even human at all!
Anyway, being outside recharges my battery. Although I’m not convinced I have actual chloroplasts, perhaps my mitochondria have learned to photosynthesize, as I am confident that my body derives energy from the Sun. I have to consciously pull myself inside to get things done. The winter is a different story. The snow surrounds me like a suffocating blanket. A heaviness sets in as I clomp and stomp in noisy boots down the slippery street, eagerly awaiting the end of the walk. When I do get back inside and remove all my wet and cold layers, my skin hurts from the feeling of the materials, my ears are throbbing like I went to a rock concert, and my eyes ache. I have to decompress from the decompressing walk.
Snow isn’t all bad. As Kevin O’Leary from ABC’s Shark Tank (or the superior Canadian Dragon’s Den) would say, it’s really “a nothing burger” in the grand scheme of things, even in the tiny scheme of just my own life. I, and everyone else, has far more serious problems. I can’t control how snow offends my physical body with SPD, I can control my reaction to it. I can choose to not let it bother me so much and to recognize some of its “beauty.” Although I find the individual flakes somewhat magical, and I enjoy studying the for the fleeting moments they persist inside under my microscope, I still don’t find the snow in aggregate to be “beautiful.” People around me say, “Wow, doesn’t it look so beautiful with all the snow today?” I just think to myself, is it my eyes? My different brain? I think it looks so ugly!
So, clearly, I have a long way to go in terms of seeing its beauty at face value but I do find some of snow’s dull grayness has been painted over into a silver lining. I got to spend more time with Ben and any extra time with him is blessing I want to recognize and not take for granted. And hey, we are past the Ides of March. This will melt. My headache will subside. Spring will come.