I sprung out of bed this morning, quickly placing myself at the sill of my window. Armed with the anticipation of a snow storm, I was excited to learn the forecast was accurate. The sight of a snow storm is far from the norm, so it’s easier to appreciate it’s beauty.
A mosaic of snowflakes were painted across my window, protecting me from the rapid descent of blowing snow. I felt grateful that I’m only an observer of the storm. Unfortunately, my driveway and sidewalks couldn’t echo the same sentiment; the unshielded road accrued 30 cm over the day.
I didn’t remain an observer for too long; I’ve been upset that gyms are closed but figured I could use shovelling the snow as my “back day”. It’s surprising how well the lats, spinal erectors, glutes, and hamstrings can be activated in a shovelling session.
After spending a few hours moving snow from one spot on the ground to another, I decided I’d need to halt. The snow fall still hadn’t terminated, so I’d decided I’d resume shovelling after I was certain the storm settled.
I captured this photo just before the sun set for the day. Caught up in a long day at work, I hadn’t peeked outside since I shovelled. The stark contrast between the two images alone was enough to insight the inspiration for this post.
Most of us understand that our world is ever-changing—perhaps it’s even obvious. Despite understanding that change is innate to our universe, possibly the characteristic that defines it, I find that I tend to resist change. I have a bias towards consistency—I find solace in it. But opposing, what seems to be, a fundamental property of our universe has implications too.
To calibrate myself with change, I remind myself of this phrase: this too shall pass.
Any feeling, experience, memory, either internal or external will pass.
Having a terrible day? This too shall pass.
Having an exceptional day? This too shall pass.
Snow storm? This too shall pass.
Sunset? This too shall pass.
The finitude of a moment is what makes it real.