What a weight off: my beloved motorcycle is no longer sitting on the street getting rained on, but is safe in a friend’s barn. Just in time for the snowstorm that’s still raging outside.
It took me two hours to drive the thirty miles home, fifteen miles an hour on the highway, basking in the green and orange flashes from snow-weighted branches drooping onto power lines, laughing when the streetlights went out. It was like a miniature apocalypse. Who doesn’t love a good apocalypse?
I enjoy being snowbound for the same reason I enjoy traffic jams and power outages. Priorities are suddenly different: having limited options makes leisure possible. We think having options makes us free, but it just makes us confused. I can do anything I want to? I think I’ll watch TV.
But if I can do only one thing — say, sit in traffic smoking cigarettes and getting a warm glow of schadenfreude from watching everyone else get irritated — I am free to enjoy every second.
Happy blizzard, New Englanders. May your lives come to a beautiful halt.