I hate the cold.
Despise it, actually.
Whatever the strongest word you can come up with for “dislike”, I am THAT to cold. To being cold, to being IN cold, to being NEAR cold, to having a cold. It all stinks. In fact, I’m fairly certain that Hell itself is frozen solid, because that would truly be torture.
That being said, winter is not my favorite time of year. Snow? It may be pretty, but to me, it’s a sure sign that: #1, I am going to be physically suffering should I dare to step outside (or near a drafty window or door), and #2, I have no hope of being even mildly comfortable for months. And that lovely chill in the air this time of year? It’s basically a phantasmic arrow pointed right at any orifice on my head, awaiting an opportunity to shoot in and freeze me from the inside out. You see, cold gets INSIDE of me. Deep, deep down. And it does. Not. Come. Out.
I have tried it all: sitting directly on the heating vents, layers upon layers of clothes, hand warmers, foot warmers, boots and gloves even inside the house, hot baths, hot showers, hot baths followed by hot showers, drinking anything hot (even hot water), space heaters, scarves, jumping jacks, running in place…. I only end up with knots in my hair from the scarves, burn marks from all heating sources, immobility and loss of circulation from the layers of clothes, having to pee every two seconds from the hot beverages, and sitting on a water bill that has the city checking for leaks.
But I’m still cold.
So when I finally get to a spot where I am decently warm, the last thing on earth I want to do is change that. Ergo, the concept of changing out of my warm clothes into pajamas at day’s end seems preposterous! Why on earth would I want to voluntarily remove the warm fabric that has worked all day to absorb my temperate body heat to expose my chill-vulnerable skin (even momentarily) to tauntingly frigid air and then replace the warm fabric with currently un-body-heated fabric? I don’t think so! It’s like running through a swarm of bees and hoping you don’t get stung.
Each evening, I find myself whining to Hubby, “I don’t want to change!”. Yes, I am aware that I sound like a four-year-old, but I feel kind of four-year-old-ish. Changing just opens up too many chances to get stung by those poker-happy bees! It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it. It can actually hurt. It takes time to recover.
I almost don’t even need to write any more. It doesn’t take much to see the connection between changing my clothes and changing me. I heard myself reciting my nightly lament and almost curled up inside myself for the profundity of it all.
“I don’t want to change!”
This is so very true.
Changing opens up too many chances to get stung. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it. It can actually hurt. And it takes time to recover.
No thank you.
Even when I can recognize the ugly parts of me, changing can still be remarkably hard. Doing so acknowledges that the ugly part exists in the first place, and who wants that? Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just sweep the ugly part under the rug? To dress it up with something pretty (or manly), maybe? But to CHANGE my ugly? Well, um…I don’t know.
The unfortunate part about covering our ugly is that “ugly” doesn’t like to stay covered, nor can it be beautified. It is a living creature, and it feeds on darkness and deception. The further away we try to push it, the bigger it grows. The only way to get rid of it is to hold it in your hand, look it in the eye, and bit it adieu. Adios, ugly!
The changing process is flat-out hard and requires commitment that isn’t always easy to maintain. It’s not easy or even fun, but it can be permanent, beautiful, and life-changing.
And sometimes even warm.
After all, my pajamas are the comfiest, coziest thing I own.
If only I didn’t have to change out of them….