It's Always Snowing

I think it was at the bus stop in seventh grade that I first looked closely at a snowflake. It settled on my mitten as I stood there, and since it didn’t melt right then, I felt obligated to examine it. What I observed filled me with wonder. The detail and symmetry of the crystalline structures, all contained within a cubic millimeter of frozen air, and the thought that billions, no, trillions of other snowflakes were all around me, each completely unique, blew my little mind.

Years later, I attended the biggest cross country meet in the entire world, right in the little town of Milaca, Minnesota. I was sitting there, under the tent, in the rain, and I looked out at the six thousand people walking by, when a strange truth hit me: Every single person walking by was living a life as intricate and deeply complex as my own.

Since then, I’ve started seeing snowflakes everywhere, whether they’re driving rusty Buick LeSabres down old country roads in the dead of night, or walking down the street with their earbuds in. And I’ve seen snowflakes melt, off the sides of bridges, or just when the sun comes out.

Since then, people have begun to ask me: “Why don’t you slow down? Why don’t you take a break?” “I simply can’t,” I reply. They don’t understand, and perhaps they never will, but life is short. What’s the point of living if we don’t touch the lives of others?

I’ve learned to reach out and catch as many snowflakes as I can. And at those times in my life when it’s a blizzard, I run outside in my boots and mittens, with my arms outstretched. I try to catch them all, and appreciate the beauty of as many as I can.

On Friday nights, or Lazy Saturday afternoons, I tell my mother I’m going outside to catch snowflakes. She tilts her head and looks at me with concern, saying, “It’s not even snowing outside.”

With that, I smile and put on my boots. I place my mittened hand on the doorknob, but before I leave, I turn to my mother one last time. “It’s always snowing,” I reply, and with that, I open the door and step outside.