The day after Easter, I awoke to fresh snow falling outside my window. It had been forecast, but I hadn’t believed it. “No way,” I told a friend that Sunday night, as we put on our coats and stepped outside. “It’s not cold enough.”

Yet, the next morning, there it was: a world of white. I tried to see the romance in it, but in truth, I was tired. Tired of gloomy skies and the dirty, day-old deposits of slush left behind on street corners. Tired of dodging melting ice falling off buildings and dripping down scaffolding. Tired of the weight of my snow boots.

I know I shouldn’t complain, because a few months from now, when stifling heat wraps itself around skyscrapers and the humidity is so oppressive I’ll be taking three showers a day just to feel clean, I’ll think back to these snowy spring days with a sense of fond nostalgia. But right now, I just want spring itself. I want tulips and daffodils and sunny afternoons in Central Park. I want to trade in my heavy winter coat for the denim jacket I found last October in a thrift store in Montreal (October! A lifetime ago!). I want to put on a dress – without the need for scratchy wool tights underneath – sit at a sidewalk café, sip a cappuccino, and scribble in my journal as the world rushes by. I want to retire the bulky cashmere wrap that’s been slung around my neck like a noose, and finally get to wear some of the light pastel silks from that little shop in Sorrento, the one where the proprietor showed me how to tie my scarf just like an Italian girl.

It sounds like what I’m really craving is a change of wardrobe. Or maybe it’s wanderlust. As I wax poetic about favorite clothing items I’ve procured on my travels, I’m hearing the words of Anaïs Nin: “I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.”

All of that is true. The long winter, coupled with the fact that I haven’t left New York in three months (a long time, for me) has left me feeling stuck. Encumbered. Heavy. I’m ready to shed the layers I’ve been wearing to keep out the cold, but I’m equally ready for what spring represents: a fresh start. I’m ready to feel new again.

I’ve always considered April to be a hopeful month. It was last April – during a weeklong whirlwind visit – when I decided to move here. Back then, everything felt possible. But after a season plagued by loneliness and self-doubt, I find myself with more questions than answers.

But yesterday, I took a step toward – maybe – answering some of those questions. Yesterday, I started a ten-week memoir class at Gotham Writer’s Workshop. I told myself I came to New York to produce my play and work in theatre – which is still the plan – but in truth, I haven’t felt much like writing fiction these days. Instead, I’ve been feeling the weight of my past, and a pressing, urgent need to dissect it all.

I don’t know where this sudden need to make sense of my life is coming from. Friends have been telling me I should write a book for years, but I haven’t wanted to. I haven’t felt ready. But for the first time, I’m starting to feel not only like I can, but maybe I should.

I don’t know how this class is going to go. I only know that yesterday, as I sat around a table on the fourteenth floor of a building near Times Square, listening to other people’s stories and sharing some of my own, I felt something spark within me. It was like something that had long been dormant was coming back to life. And that feeling – no matter where it leads – is worth following.

It’s April in New York, and there’s still a chill in the air. But sooner or later, this seemingly interminable winter will finally – mercifully – come to an end.

Until next time, friends.

11 thoughts on “Snowfall.

  1. I thought it was a belated April Fools Joke. Snow in April? WHY?!?! I hear you though, I am ready for Spring and Summer. I actually don’t mind taking three showers a day. I LOVE the heat, and feel like I blossom in the Summer. I also feel like my writing is stagnate lately, and it is only with the tease of Spring that I feel like I am starting to be inspired. That is awesome about the workshop! I hope you have a blast and your writing muse is good to you! ❤

  2. Love those awesome flowers Sarah, tulips are cool, although I am partial to delicate soft fragrant roses, and time blue forget – me – knots.

    Fling a hand full of paint, and a fist Full of Dollars, some hues of purples, fuchsias; burgundy and teal green under steel metallic grayish blue skies, nothing within the lines, forget order for this is about freedom of expression, bare feet, wet sand and bright green sea anemones clinging to ocean side rocks and returning of big toes, ok it’s about the tickles and need to be nowhere. The mood, the music ‘Norah Jones ‘All A Dream’.

    There is just something about ice crystals that seem so unfitting to big cities, perhaps it’s about the cold steel, even flash frozen Lichen seem so out of place in New York City. Loons, the distant call of loons. New York just freaks me out, I’ve never been there and the city drags me into an under funk. I am just no sardine, never have been and never will be. Nope’ the heck out of that place. I need lime green toe sucking sea anemones, sunsets, because being a nocturnal means if I resided upon the East coast, I would sleep through sun rises and with no awesome sunsets,. shutters at the thought of having no Pacific coast sunsets.

    Sends Chocolate. 🙂

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