i like you, and i don't even have to try

i guess there's something about warm drinks that just makes me want to blog. i sit here drinking a mocha latte that i made for myself (the most real thing i've made for myself in awhile, to be honest) out of a mug with a thoreau quote on it that is encouraging me to "live the life you've imagined." as i mentioned in my last blog, that seems to be happening. in general, it seems that way because of grad school, etc., etc., but right now it seems like the life i imagined has a lot more to do with this mocha latte and the quiet of the snow settling outside my window.

also, snowstorms, for some reason, make me want to think about things and then tell you those things.

i saw the first flakes on tuesday nite, i think, on my way to or from the video editing lab that i was basically living in until i had to turn in my film on thursday afternoon. i remember looking at them and thinking that they were pretty, that really snow is magical, like the silvers always tried to tell me it was. i could feel my brain racing ahead to the place where snow means icy sidewalks, and frostbit fingertips, and frozen nostril hairs. i told it to stop. i told it that i would miss everything good if i let it have its way.

i loved the snow, that nite.

this morning i woke up to real snow. i'm at an advantage here, because i don't have to be anywhere today. i don't really have to be anywhere tomorrow. i could probably hole up in my apartment until monday morning, if i really wanted to. i have food and the ingredients for further mocha lattes, and i'd honestly probably get more work done (and i do have a lot of work to get done) and make healthier lifestyle choices, if i stay inside and don't walk past any donut shops.

but now i'm remembering the snowstorms of last winter, in colorado. (and i have to tell you, i have to tell you all, that when people ask me if i'm going home for christmas, i say yes, but then i quickly qualify because i know that's not quite what i mean: "i'm going to where my parents live, i'm not going home to colorado." my parents' town is home in the way that any place is home, when you love someone who lives there. i believe in that kind of home, firmly and for always. but now there is this Home spot in my heart, that's carved out for a physical place, and that place - at least for now - is at the foot of the rockies.)

i can't remember when most of these snowfalls took place. but the one that stands out in my mind is one where it snowed hard, and it was an early, hearty snow - the kind that takes place before the snow loses enthusiasm for its work. a lot of people were out of town or unavailable, i think, but i can't remember why. courtney and i were holed up at home - knowing that winter, i was probably in the process of endlessly rearranging our living room, trying to write at the desk i had moved to the front window in the living room, trying to suddenly learn how to make a home for the very first time.

i also may or may not have been hungover.

but brittany (or levi?) called me. they wanted to take a walk through the snow while the snow was still fresh. they lured me and courtney out of our cozy house with the promise of friendship and hot homemade drinks. we surprised ourselves by going for it.

so we bundled ourselves from head to toe and clomped through the unshoveled sidewalks and the cold nite air. you had to laugh, because you were so wet and cold, but in the absolute quiet you didn't want to laugh too loud. you didn't want to knock the snow from the branches, or the sparkle from the snow, by making too much noise. when we made it to the silvers', they bundled up too and we went on a further walk around the neighborhood. i don't remember what we talked about, or if we talked. i just remember that, for a short while, we were the only people in colorado.

i remember that i loved the snow then, because brittany and levi loved it.

and that's the magical thing about friendship, isn't it? when people are done with you, if they are generous in their souls, you will love things that you never thought you could love. you will love new bands and new movies, colors, patterns, activities, parts of the world. you will learn to love theatre, or basketball, or valentine's day, or a group of people that, before, maybe you even hated. everyone has something they love that will be new to your heart.

it's usually not the thing itself that matters (although sometimes that thing especially needs love, and then it matters like crazy) - what's important is that if you love other people, with as much of that true, unselfish part of your heart as you have available, you will slowly, almost accidentally, end up loving more of everything else too.

and that's good. i'm for that.