Cold Hands and Rainy Nights
I’m writing this from the lobby of my daughter’s climbing class. They’ve got a new location and it’s really nice - tables, chairs, great lighting, electrical outlets for those of us parents who are trying to get a little bit done. But there’s just one problem. It’s freezing.
It’s a climbing gym, so it’s basically a big warehouse, and this time of year, it’s only about 35 degrees outside in the mornings, so, it’s pretty frigid. I can see the insulated walls, but they can only do so much with a giant open room. I understand, too, that I’m not the target audience. My daughter is in shorts and a t-shirt because, between warm ups and strength training and the actual climbing, it feels just right in here.
So, every week, I put on my leggings under my jeans and pull out my parka and my hand warmers and thank my lucky stars that she chose climbing and not soccer because at least I’m not being rained on. But I can’t help thinking a little bit longingly of the old climbing location because although I had to sit on a hard wooden bench, with spotty wi-fi and no back support, they had heat lamps.
Beautiful, radiant heat lamps.
When I moved to the Pacific Northwest 17 years ago, I remember thinking how much less effort was put into personal comfort here, compared to the other places I’d lived. People thought nothing of living without air conditioning, of going out in all weather, of walking around in the rain without a thought for an umbrella. Think of your most outdoorsy friend. The one who would happily sleep on the ground, backpack all day, and then drink coffee made over a fire, full of ashes and unfiltered grounds.
About half of the population here is like that. And in a climbing gym like this, they’re all like that.
It wasn’t much of an adjustment when I was 22. It was a fun adventure and although there was no way I was going to go backpacking, I was happy to do the hiking in the rain thing. But these days, things are a little bit creakier than they used to be, and I really, really miss those heat lamps.
There was an interview last week for Humans of New York, with a woman whose life seemed to look a lot like mine. And in it, she said something like, when you get older, the changes don’t come with any fanfare. They come unexpectedly, and before you notice it, your old self is gone and you never got a chance to say goodbye.
My old self - the one who moved here - she’s pretty firmly gone. She’s been replaced by someone who loves to sit by the fire, reading a book, snuggling a cat. But I had a dream last night, of walking through Seattle on a rainy night. I used to take the bus to work, you see, and this time of year, it would already be dark when I headed home, and the rain would make the lights reflect of the streets and the mist would give everything a romantic, old movie kind of feel. I loved walking home in the rain, hearing the cars on the wet roads, and coming out of that mist to a warm house waiting for me.
And I think that maybe that part of me is still hanging around, I haven’t had to say goodbye to her yet. Because those rainy days are here again, and I still love every inch of it. So maybe, I can try to say goodbye to that 22 year old self, while also remembering that that some part of me isn’t going anywhere for a long, long time.
