Monday, it seems, is the day to have a snow storm. And though we know that in the days after we will inevitably slide and trip our way to class through slush that has a yummy consistency of runny diarrhea, and through Massachusetts drivers whose already poor hand-eye-foot coordination becomes further impaired by the snow, we look forward to it anyway.
There are two kinds of snow days. One is Expected – these are the storms that the weather man is insisting that it is the Coming of the Next Ice Age, where the housewives and househusbands are raiding the shelves of the supermarket just in case, and where anyone under the age of eighteen smiles with the knowledge that they will not be seeing their teachers the next day.
The other kind of snow day is Holy. These are days that come unexpectedly, that have the climatologists and weathermen scratching their head and wondering how they missed the signs, that have housewives and househusbands wondering how to feed suddenly rambunctious, purposeless children who, unexpectedly, were not thrust into the care of their teachers. These are the snow days we get here – they’re unquestionably a luxury at Harvard; for the past third of a millennium, the University has only had three.
This is not, mind you, because of the lack of snow. Rather, it is because a closely monitored situation never yields fruitful results, the same way a watched pot never boils. So, as the snow falls outside and the pot is left unattended on a stove in Adams Dining Hall, we march to class in Canada Goose jackets and take full advantage of Harvard time. We remember that it is a new semester, and that a new semester comes with replenished Board Plus and thus a blissful two weeks of sushi and cappuccinos from Greenhouse Café. We fake smiles and lean in for awkward hugs and we lose a little bit of our souls at Lamont, and we wish so hard for just a single day of break.
What would you do with this day? Maybe it would be used to catch up on all the readings for section you had promised yourself you would do, just last week on Study Card day. Maybe you’d take the time to actually understand the problem set you’re turning in, or maybe you’d just hibernate under your covers, sleeping away the fears of a future livelihood where your diploma is forcefully repurposed as firewood. Maybe you’d eat a long meal in the dining hall without counting calories or counting minutes, or maybe you’d take the time to call your parents or reconnect with some high school friends.
Because they were probably the ones you spent your last Expected snow days with. Those were the days you shut off your alarm and rolled back into the comfort of your covers, when you were woken by the aromas of warm, homemade food. Those were the days of snowball fights and sledding, of being forced to shovel the driveway, of watching a movie next to the fireplace. Those were the days you were able to enjoy the day not for what you accomplished, but just for what it was: a day of snow, when the world was blanketed in white and held its breath for a moment, just so you could exhale without feeling its weight on your shoulders.
Here’s to Snow Day #2 of the semester, and to whatever it is you make of it.