First snow of the winter.

Disappointed by my obliviousness.

Jump into my weekly journal, where I explore my relationship with an ever changing world! I’d like to turn writing into a career; if you want to help me conquer that dream, please subscribe.

---

That bridge is a nine minute walk from my apartment in Berlin. In the interest of privacy I can’t tell you exactly where in Berlin this particular bridge is, but I can tell you that the river that flows beneath it is the Spree. The river continues south where it eventually forms a series of canals that bring life to a sprawling forest, Spreewald. My daily life usually leads me due west across the bridge and into the train station behind it (a glimpse of it is visible in this photo, the small, white S denotes an overground station) as I make my way to my girlfriend’s apartment for a coffee or a chat. I took this photograph of my bridge somewhere in the middle of the week after a couple days of light but insistent snowfall. It has since ceased snowing and though the sun occasionally makes an appearance, the wind is bitter and frigid. I’ve spoilt you today and brought two more photos of my snowy surrounds: one is another bridge over the same river some distance from the first one, the other is the tall, dignified courthouse that forms part of the centre of my neighbourhood.

I’m upset. The snow didn’t stop me in my tracks. I didn’t allow myself to be moved by wonder and magic and whatever else the characters in every other New York Christmas movie experience. I didn’t look up into the sky in amazement. The most enthusiasm I mustered was throwing a few handfuls of snow at my girlfriend. That, I can faithfully report, is just as satisfying as every movie and cartoon suggests. Fun as it was, I feel as though I’ve glossed over the gravity of my reality. As a child, I longed to see snow. It absorbed me; it pained me that I was stuck in sunny, beach filled South Africa with no hope of snow on Christmas morning. Given the life, now, that I always wanted, my response to seeing and living amongst the stuff is decidedly and disappointingly grown up. It didn’t distract me from grocery shopping, fetching the kids I au pair from school and rushing to catch the train. As a child, I think I imagined living out a snowy winter with unabashed enthusiasm, craning my neck toward the sky and sticking my tongue out in hopes to catch a snowflake every chance I could get. I’m afraid I got over the snow a little too quickly.

A bigger, more sobering symmetry underlies the freshly fallen snow, however. For months and months I struggled to move to Europe. I have countless fruitless job applications in my email inbox as receipts for my effort. I spent weeks researching jobs, learning German, planning my journey, organising and applying for documents. The snow is, in itself, a reminder of things longed for, but it is also a sure sign that the future which I toiled for so laboriously has come to fruition—quite miraculously and in spite of so many nos. I’m frustrated that the snow was only enough to make me look up, briefly, on my way to the train station to meet my girlfriend for a quick, midday coffee. The day I was living—experiencing European winter, living in Germany, finally closing the distance in my relationship from thirteen thousand kilometres to four—was everything I had dreamt of for some time. I feel as though I haven’t stopped to take it all in. Am I thankful enough that the change I so longed for has been my reality for several weeks now? After a year of long distance dating, half a decade of driving myself everywhere and a lifetime without snow, I wish a deeper brand of recognition and gratitude had welled up inside me.

This happens to me all the time, of course. It appears that I am far more wrapped up in the things I hope for while I hope for them; they seem, then, not to sparkle at all once they are mine. I wished for so long to have a MacBook, perhaps all throughout high school. When I finally bought myself one in university, it only retained its lustre for the briefest moment before it became my everyday reality. I enjoyed it, sure, but I missed more when I didn’t have it than I ever appreciated it once I did. The same is true of smaller things in my life, restaurants on wish lists, anticipation filled presents. It seems as though all the joy fled once the wrapping paper hit the floor. Apparently, my behaviour is consistent when it comes to life’s larger desires, too. I have forgotten, perhaps I continue to forget, how often I wished to be in a relationship. I certainly don’t approach my relationship with the eagerness that my younger self would have displayed. The same is true of the snow, of living in Europe. Bigger and uglier things too, I'm privileged enough to have left much of my anxiety and fear behind. Very rarely do I stop to count how many dreams of mine I live out in my day to day.

I recognise that it is implausible to be grateful for every aspect of my life every moment of my life. That isn’t what I’m suggesting. I suppose I was disappointed when I simply took the snowy week in my stride, rather than celebrating what it meant: success and progress and adventure. I very quickly slip into seriousness. I write to-do lists on little pieces of paper and budget my money without much flexibility and I get caught up in chores and schedules. I would sooner race past a pile of snow than jump through it. I think, though, that it’s probably quite important to acknowledge where I am in my life. I think, sometimes, I ought to stop and count just how many wishes and dreams and prayers through the years have all come true. I bet it‘s more than I think.

---

The snow truly is stunning. And oh so cold. Gotta buy some gloves before the next snowball fight. If you enjoyed this journal, please send it to someone you love.