November Chill

It was a day in late November. Rain, wind, and bone-chilling cold. I remember it because it was so out of the ordinary. We hadn’t had a day like it yet in the season. A storm was blowing in, apparently, causing the temperature to drop and the winds to pick up.

I remember it so well because I was working outdoors. The day before and even the morning of I was praying that my employers would cancel class.

One of my many jobs as an artist in the city is teaching young children and their families in Central Park. Every morning we gather to dig in the dirt, make mud pies, sing songs, eat freshly baked bread, and practice presence in nature. Sounds pretty dreamy, right? Well, it is, except when it’s freezing cold and the wind and rain are throwing a party. Seriously, who actually wants to be in 20-degree weather, rain, and wind, while taking care of a three-year-old?!

But in the spirit of forest school and the “rain-or-shine” attitude, we held class.

I sludged to the subway desperately praying no one shows up so I could go home early. After getting off the subway, mentally preparing myself to be humbled by the elements, I made my walk through Central Park to our outdoor classroom. I was already soaked not five minutes from getting off the train.

Thank God I invested in that new rain gear.

Although maybe I should have worn snow gear.

Being wet is awful, but being cold and wet is horrendous.

After assembling our classroom out of fallen logs, old stumps, and an assortment of leaves, acorns, and gumdrops (those spiky seed balls seen all over the ground), I waited.

Ah! Here comes Tim up the hill.

Tim is my co-teacher. A free spirit, easy-going, lovable person.

But this weather even gets to him.

“Oh my gosh,” Tim says to me as he approaches, even more soaked than me but with a wide grin on his face.

“I know!” I try to return the cheerfulness, but I’m feeling more and more miserable by the minute.

“Let’s hope no one shows up,” I say half-jokingly and half-serious. Maybe he won’t notice the seriousness.

Being a forest teacher and self-proclaimed nature lover, I shouldn’t have such an adverse response to a little rain and cold. But this was different. I felt justified. This was frigid before it was supposed to be frigid!

“Yeah” Tim smiles wiping his face with the wet sleeve of his jacket.

“I’ll head down to see if we have any brave students this morning.”

Brave students. See?! Just him calling them “brave” for facing the rain and cold is enough to make me ashamed of my wish to get out of here.

“Ok!” I muster with forceful enthusiasm that I’m sure he can see through. He gives me a nod and then heads back down the hill.

Alone. Here I am alone in this little corner of The Ramble in Central Park. Waiting for some three-year-olds and their parents to arrive, which is when I will put on my fake “brave” face and my forced enthusiasm in hopes to convince them that digging for worms in the 20 something degree weather while rain and wind whip you around is actually one of the joys of nature and they need more of it.

Oo, this chill is getting worse.

My toes feel it the most. And my fingers. Definitely should have worn snow gloves, and I really need to buy some new winter boots.

Weatherproof and warm. That’s what I need.

I look at the clock on my phone because I keep forgetting to replace my battery in my watch. Every time I think to do it, it’s not the right time to actually do anything. It’s always when I’m on the subway or in the middle of teaching or when I’m lying in bed. Not moments when I want to actually give it attention.

Five minutes have passed since Tim went down the hill. He won’t be arriving again for at least another twenty minutes, probably more.

Please let there not be any children and families with him.

I am freezing.

I’m freezing.

Oh my gosh. I have to move. I cannot stand still and just take this cold.

I can’t just do nothing.

How do animals do it? I get the whole conserve-energy-do-little concept. But moving warms up the body. Gets the blood flowing. Doing something makes this a little more manageable.

Ok. Do something. Do. Something.

Why am I here? I wanted this job. I like this job. I actually love this job, most days. In this job, I actually get to use my skills and passions. Working in and with nature. Working with young children and families. Engaging in the wonder and awe of our existence.

This job is perfect for me!

Except when it isn’t.

I’ve had a lot of jobs over the past ten years. Most of them working with children, some of them in plays, a few dog-walking moments, personal assistant work, and two times at two different gyms’ front desk. I’m responsible, friendly, kind, and reliable. I’m the exact kind of employee you want.

The only thing is I haven’t found something I really want to do. No job I’ve ever had has been a job that I thought “yes, this is it. This is what I want to do forever.”

Most of my jobs for the past ten years, I labeled “survival jobs” because they were helping me make ends while I pursued my real passion. Acting. The theatre.

Then when life hit — and hit hard — I pivoted.

Acting was no longer holding the same kind of pull it had on me. I was released from its grip, $90,000 in student loan debt later.

Then something else began to pull me. Something more simple. Something less run by bull-shit expectations and over-commodified ideals. Something that is stripped of self-ordained power practices, stripped of commodification, stripped of bull-shit.

Something that exudes truth, and rawness, and power. Not a power to be gained but a power to be admired. A power to be acknowledged with wonder and amazement and humility.

Nature.

I had found my way (back) to nature. This newfound discovery had seemed like the answer. Nature was everywhere. Everything around me is nature. I can go to nature in the wilderness. Or I can find nature right here in the city. Nature is inescapable and nature is inevitable. Nature is me and nature is everything.

I will devote myself to nature and my love and gratitude for it.

This was the perfect thing for me.

Until it wasn’t.

Until I couldn’t figure out how to use my skills and passions and interests to do one single thing. Until I came to terms with the fact that I didn’t and don’t know what I want out of life, and all my life experiences may not add up to anything. They might. But just because I have an MFA in something and did some big shot project and also love nature does not make me successful in this newfound endeavor.

So here I was.

In Central Park in the cold, windy rain. Trying — not succeeding — to put my attention on my love of nature.

I start singing.

I used to make up songs as a child. I loved singing nonsense — sometimes sensical — lyrics that just flowed out of my mouth around the yard and house. These songs were inspired. Inspired by my real-in-time-present experience.

Where they good?

“Yes, they were good — they were real!” my 8-year-old self says.

These songs were full of emotions. Of feelings.

These songs were about running quickly to escape something, about feeling sad while sitting in the rain, about feeling regret for doing something that got me in trouble.

See?! Real experiences as lived by an 8-year-old.

And trust me, I didn’t hold back.

These songs were so full of heart and passion that a passerby couldn’t help but tell me to be quiet. While the lyrics weren’t good and the melodies pretty bad, I sang them with the kind of fervor of a yappy dog that was scared of someone knocking at the door:

It’s just the UPS worker delivering a package. If you would just SHUT UP I could get my package!

So 25 years after my young singing self was told to shut up, I find myself making up lyrics and melodies in Central Park on a rainy day.

And these songs I start singing flow from me. I didn’t think about whether they were good or bad. I didn’t craft them. I just sang.

And it felt good to sing. To sing what I was feeling. I was channeling my 8-year-old self’s simple and uncomplicated lyrics. The incredible cliche and simple words “Just let go” sung to a basic melodic ballad (that I’m pretty sure was probably taken from another song I had heard and forgotten) was all I needed to feel a release.

I was letting go?

I was letting go!

I was letting go of the cold!

I was letting go of the rain!

I was letting go of the wind!

I was letting go of the elements!

And gosh darn it, if I didn’t feel an appreciation. Gratitude! A humility for nature. For the rain and wind and cold.

This cold wasn’t strangling me, it was resuscitating me.

This song wasn’t good or bad, it was true.

Let go.

Just let go.

And I did

And I was.