When you’re an adult, it’s easy to forget about the distinct delight of a snow day.*

But when else does light refract and dazzle the way it does the day after a snowstorm, illuminating all the musty crannies of your home? When else, upon feeling audibly the glee of the kids down the street, can you feel relieved that snow days are still an establishment in today’s pandemic-era schools? Is there a pleasure so pristine as tromping fresh tracks in a glistening alley-way, the snow squeaking cleanly beneath your boots while the sun, absent for weeks, makes seven degrees feel icily invigorating? Or how about rushing to shovel the sidewalk before all the dog-walkers compact the snow to ice, and there’s that nice blitz of endorphins that only physical labor can give? Plus, no makeup is a substitute for your smooth, rosy-cheeked glow when at last you stomp your way inside, breathless, for a steaming up of coffee and slice of the bread loaf you had the forethought to bake the night before.

*Under normal circumstances I’d be decidedly more morose about a foot of snow in late October, but snow is the number one thing that Colorado needs right now, and anyway, what happens will happen.

(Oct. 26)

A few months ago, I read the book Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport. He's a thoughtful man and has many smart things to say about taking control of your smartphone, but, admittedly, it’s rather ironic to take advice on social media usage from a man who’s never even had a social media account. All ironies aside, though, one facet of the book has lingered with me—the necessity of hobbies. Newport argues that one of the reasons we find it so hard to resist the pull of our glowing devices is this: all the hours we used to spend reading or bird watching or gardening or cross-stitching or puzzling together our genealogies have been replaced by a single tiny screen. And from a neurological perspective, it makes sense—those other hobbies are forms of delayed gratification, activities that require time and effort in order to reap the invaluable benefits. In contrast, a quick scroll through instagram is pure instant gratification, a neat dose of dopamine that our brains crave all too easily.

We all know, of course, that the quick feel-good rush the digital world offers is temporary and not nearly as gratifying as what can be found in pursuing purposeful hobbies (high-quality leisure, Newport calls it). So, if we desire to take control of lives and not be such slaves to screens, the effort is two-fold. First we need to set strict boundaries around our screen usage, yes. But if we’re spending less time on our phones, how do we fill all that extra time thoughtfully? The second step, then, calls for rediscovering hobbies so that we’re less likely to reach for our phones at the first hint of boredom. As you master new skills and gain confidence, hobbies are also an easy way to improve your quality of life, and are guaranteed to make you a more interesting person along the way.

A long lead-up to say, I’ve been thinking about Newport’s council a lot lately, especially since the pandemic has forced screens to play an even larger role in our lives. While generally I’m quite good at putzing around at home and finding ways to keep my free time occupied, I knew that picking up more structured hobbies would certainly only enhance my life, especially now that winter is practically here (in Colorado, anyway). A few weeks ago, I made a winter to-do list, including activities like resurrecting this blog (which has been wonderful), digitizing my late grandmother’s documents, lighting candles at dusk, going snowshoeing as often as possible, having a cabin weekend, knitting an article of clothing, making some tapestries, and starting a book club with my sister (anyone else want to join?). The determining factor is that the things on my list are there for pure enjoyment, not because they’re things I feel like I should do, or for the sake of potential monetization. 

And yesterday, as the snow fell faster than I could keep track of, after we had waffles and whipped cream for breakfast, I thought, This is the day for a new hobby.* Then I did all the necessary research, braved the roads to gather the supplies, and got started that afternoon…and it was utterly marvelous. Thanks for the push, Cal Newport. 

*I can’t tell you what exactly the new hobby is because, well, Christmas is coming and I can’t reveal all my secrets here.

(Oct. 25)

Here is a particular kind of delight: it’s a gloomy afternoon and you’ve just accomplished arduous task of doing the week’s grocery shopping. You lay down on the couch with a book (words grip you in a way they haven’t for a very long time). For a little while, you turn the pages, but then the house is so perfectly quiet, and the blanket draped over your legs is deliciously warm. Your breathing levels out like a meditation, your mind is delightfully unmarked, and finally the whoosh of the heater…

Where was I again? Oh, it’s been forty-five minutes. Well, that was nice, and look—the sun is finally breaking through the smoke. 

(Oct. 24)

This afternoon, after finishing my work, I left the house to carry out a small errand, mostly so I could have that lovely feeling of returning, a little chilled, to a warm house, where I could proceed to have a coffee and wrap myself around a book, and think with a contented sigh, I really earned this, didn’t I? 

(Oct. 23)