Journal Entry, 6 January 2022
Today I walked to and from work because of heavy snow. Two miles (3.2km) each way. It’s been snowing since last night and as I look out the window now big fat flakes are still falling. In the morning it was a literal whiteout at times where I could only see a few feet in front of me. Then after rushing around a kitchen all day trekked home. The whiteouts had stopped but it was still snowing heavily. About halfway home there was a guy with his car stuck, so I instinctively offered to push. I wasn’t making much progress, then another guy showed, then another, then another. The four of us pushed him out without exchanging words then parted. When I got home most of my sidewalk was already shoveled from a neighbor. After shoveling the remainder (and also a portion of the rear of the house for the dogs) I came in the house and fired up the wood stove, which I sit next to now with a glass of wine. This morning after arriving but before starting work I posted a photo on social media of my walking commute. So many people offered rides. People are good. The thing is I actually enjoy it. All of it...the snowy walk, pushing someone out, shoveling, chopping wood. But I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t tired. At sixty years young I am truly grateful that I am still able to use my body for these things. It—my body—reminds me each morning as I groan out of bed that this will not always be the case. I once read a quote which said that the entire philosophy of Buddhism can be summed up in the simple phrase, Everything Changes. I won’t always be able to walk four miles (6.4km) round trip to work in a snow storm, but for now I can. And I enjoyed it, and that is good.