Winter by Remembering

Five years ago I landed in Glasgow, Scotland with this brand-new coat I had gotten for Christmas.

My parents splurged on a parka for me as a gift before I left for the UK for six months, and I am not kidding when I say I wore it almost every single day of my semester abroad. It became second nature, zipping it on over the day’s outfit before making the descent from my top-floor student flat on Kelvinhaugh Street. Our study was at the University of Glasgow, in the heart of the West End, and we expats faced some variety of cold, snow, or rain every time we left home to walk the half mile to class.

I became accustomed to checking the weather each day to tell how many layers I would need underneath it, but I really wore it everywhere, no matter what the weather was like. When I traveled to Norway to spend Holy Week with missionary friends who had no heat in their home, I zipped my whole self into this coat to sleep, legs tucked to chest, giant hood cinched down over my eyes, wearing every other item of clothing I’d packed for this trip underneath. And on warmer days and in heated interiors I folded it over my arm, unbothered by its weight.

Today I took a bike ride in this coat, up the street to the nearest coffee shop and back. It was blustery out, 40 degrees and windy enough to hurt a little, but the coat once again served me well, as I biked home with latte in hand and a whole bag of coffee beans stuffed into one of its cavernous pockets.

It’s not particularly trendy, to have the same coat coming up on five winters now, to have the same look on every cold day. I love variety, and sometimes this coat can feel counterintuitive to that. But I’ve found it important, especially in this winter, to reflect on the adventures I’ve been able to embark on with this coat— what a little bit of bundling up enabled me to go do and see.

Loch Lomond

Probably trespassing at a castle near Ben Nevis

Portencross. Also, I miss having a pixie cut.

My most singular memory from this cold, cold six months is an overtone of quiet joy— wonder from taking in some of the most beautiful sights, an equal measure of gladness in community and in solitude (which is often a struggle for me). I wintered well, in a climate colder than my current one. And I think it was so, in part, because I had what was necessary to go out and face the cold, to not allow the outside circumstance to prevent an adventure or thwart the possibility of a good day.

It sobers me to think of all the times that I have quickly jumped ship on a hopeful attitude when things don’t unfold in the way I envisioned, whether set back by a physical or metaphorical winter. Apathy grows when I rely on the perfect conditions to act, whether that’s working out, practicing creativity, waking up earlier, finishing a painting, or simply going outside. And the right conditions are rare and fickle, especially when it comes to the creative work I so long to do.

Photo credit: Jonny Rodgers Visuals

So this orange coat, faithful as it’s been to keep me warm through the winters, serves as a reminder for me to make do with the circumstances I have— to put on another layer, and find a way to venture out into the world even when the conditions seem less than perfect. And in doing so, I get to witness days that I never would if I only waited for seventy degrees and sunshine. And that, friends, is worthwhile.