What happened to snow days?

I grew up in a house on a hill. My house was surrounded by hills, actually. Every block, in every direction, was characterized by its steepness. We had a ranking for each hill and how much it hurt to walk each one of them. In the summertime, these hills became monsters, as me and my brother dreaded to confront them. During the winter, however, there was a different story to tell. The snow-covered hills became magical wonderlands. We would spend hours making forts and rudimentary snowmen, grasping at all of the snow we could find to chuck at one another. Using old garbage can lids, we would glide down the rugged, hilly paths as if we hadn’t been complaining about their nature two seasons prior — as if they were the greatest element in the world. By the summertime, these hills had taken their monstrous form once again.

I see how the little things change.

I also notice that the world I see now is completely different than the world I saw when I was a child. The snow that once seemed so magical and captivating was something that I would so desperately await. I distinctly remember the excitement that would arise in my chest as I pondered the possibility that we would be off from school the next day. The infamous “snow day” is, in fact, every child’s dream come true.

As a college freshman, who is participating in virtual schooling nonetheless, I regret to acknowledge the fact that snow doesn’t have the same appeal. It’s true, I do find the delicate white landscape of my neighborhood in the wintertime to be absolutely breathtaking. But “snow days” don’t exist anymore! They’ve been replaced by hours of trying to shovel my car out of the snow. The excitement that would arise in my chest has been turned into a sharp pain that lasts for approximately 2-3 days, caused by soreness from my desperate attempts to scrape ice out of the driveway with an old, broken shovel.

The past week or so has lent itself to a number of snowstorms. In my childhood, this would equate to about a week off from school, which is a principle that doesn’t exist anymore, in virtual college at least. In times like these, I do find myself missing my childhood. Everything about life was so new and exciting. The hills that lay outside my window were much more to me than what others thought they were. Each hill was a new adventure, a new challenge to overcome.

Yes, it is true that life is constantly changing — think of life before and after the coronavirus if you need any proof on the matter. However, nothing is more effective in fostering change than our own perception, our own minds. The hills of my childhood were always the same, whether they were dressed in snow or not. It was only my perception of them that changed, along with the seasons. The hills, themselves, remained the same, just like snow.

Snow is just as magical as it was when we were children, if only we choose to see it. Responsibility carries a heavy weight. It has the power to poison the simplicity of life and to distract us from enjoying what we used to. If we pay close attention to the world around us, letting go of the stresses and the battles that we face, everything will start to feel as it was when we were young.

It’s true that the little things never actually changed. It was me that did.

Mind of a Freshman is an Opinion column written by a current first-year Stevens student to discuss life experiences during their time at Stevens, and other related subject matter.