Before moving to Ohio for college, I had minimal experiences with snow. I recall there being a slight drizzle when visiting family in New York, and a few snowflakes landed on my coat as a fifth-grader visiting Washington, D.C.
As a Floridian whose winter typically involves 50 degree weather and lots of sunlight, I was somewhat looking forward to the “Winter Wonderland” vibe that everyone always talks about when romanticizing the season: sledding, snowball fights, and frolicking in the snow with smiles on their faces as if there was no other joy like playing in it.
However, I feel like I’ve been scammed. It was not as amazing as everyone said it would be.
I can’t lie; it was pretty cool to see a blanket of snow for the first time. I woke up and looked outside my window to see layers of white where the green grass should’ve been. I was in shock at how much snow there was and the fact that it was actually real. I kept blinking to make sure it wouldn’t disappear when I looked away. As a Floridian, I had no idea what to expect in terms of actual temperature, but the one thing I did know was that I would have to bundle up — luckily I had prepared for this.
I put on my thick winter boots and heavy duty jacket before venturing out into the white fluffiness. It was cool to have snowflakes land on my fingers and hair. It was nice to step into the crunchy soft ground. It was all new to me and very beautiful at the time.
However, by the third time it snowed, I was sick and tired of it. Every new forecast came with an exasperated sigh. I wasn’t a fan of having to wear boots all the time (because I refuse to wear any other shoes if there is snow on the ground). It was a whole hassle just to go anywhere, and it wasn’t like the snow was fluffy enough to make a snowman, so what was all the hype about?
At one point, I tried putting together a snowball but my friends warned the snow wasn’t the right texture, and my glove ruined it anyway. I couldn’t sled. I couldn’t play. The only highlight of the experience was not dying after accidentally slipping on the ice. Every other day, I walk outside hoping for the snow to be gone, but it’s still there, taunting me with its lack of play-ability.
For now, I’m just fighting the urge to dive into the white fluffiness and the side-eyes I get from friends when I express wanting to do so.
