Shoveling Toward Happiness

Snowy days, sloppy paths, and letting the Universe do its thing

Sometimes you gotta go through it to get to it.

About a year ago, on Christmas Day, I walked a long way, then wrote about being alone on Christmas. I remember it being a sad post. This year I decided to do that same walk on Christmas, but a few days before we got our first big snowfall of the year, and I just had to go out in it.

This was an entirely different walk. Last year, I was sad, and it required work to acknowledge the good things in my life then. It was an odd walk on an unseasonably warm afternoon. This year I felt, I feel, none of that.

This year, with more than six inches of snow on the ground, Minnesota was being Minnesota. Buttoning up, going out and getting on with getting on. Mothers were shoveling with their daughters, workmen making house calls, Amazon trucks winding through neighborhoods dropping off gifts and gadgets and things people only think they need.

About half the sidewalks were already shoveled on my way out of my neighborhood. But I didn’t mind those that weren’t. Walking in six to eight inches of unplowed, unshoveled, virgin snow isn’t the same as walking on shoveled ground. Your hips move differently, you’re a little slower, the going is a touch tougher. But that’s OK because you’re enjoying the white world.

Snow muffles sound. It coats the world in seeming purity. Details pop. A trail of fresh squirrel tracks instantly transported me to my very first solo hunt, more than 20 years ago, wherein I shot a squirrel out of a snowy woodlot near Hastings, Minnesota. Seems like childhood now. I reached the nearby golf course and looked wistfully at a couple cross country skiing — something I hope to get better at this winter.

A snowstorm like this marks one of those common human struggles that can reveal a person’s state of mind. I know people who hibernate in such weather, even here. Shoveling isn’t super fun, but it needs to be done. And most of us do it more or less cheerfully. As a driver, you need to adjust, slow down, and stay, well… chill. Or you’ll end up in the ditch.

Which way is Narnia?

A huge part of my melancholy a year ago was living alone. At that time, I’d been living solo for a grand total of about two months. Laughably short. (To be fair, I’d been alone a lot in the previous year as I traveled around.) But those first few months at home were hard. A few friends were sage enough to tell me that it gets better.

They were right. I don’t know exactly when it was that I came to be at peace with living with little more companionship than a sourdough starter and a spider plant, but I’m here now. A big factor is that I’ve managed to cobble together a social network — the real kind — strong enough where other than, say, Christmas, I don’t need to be alone if I don’t want to. Hell, I even got a couple of Christmas Day invites this year, invites I cheerfully declined.

Why? Because I am finally revving up strong on my book Borderlands. I’ve managed to find a path in terms of its organization and content where I am excited to get up and write every day. That had not been the case for a long time. I suspect writing is like food: You can taste or feel it if the chef or writer’s heart isn’t in it. I feel confident about meeting my deadlines now.

In short, I’m hopeful, confident, almost serene. But all this isn’t about me. It’s about us. It’s about gratitude, intention, desire — and then allowing the world to do its thing.

As an athlete, I lived by the maxim that the will to win is nothing compared to the will to prepare to win. (Various coaches have said this over the last century, but it is believed that Michigan football coach Fielding Yost first uttered it.) Until very recently, I interpreted that as something like, if I do all the things needed to achieve an outcome, it should happen — on my timetable.

It’s that last part that I’ve let go. The universe works on its own timetable. We can’t control it. Things tend to work out. Sometimes in exactly the way we want, sometimes in ways we hadn’t thought about, and sometimes in ways that may seem opposite to what we want, but, upon reflection, were even better that what we’d envisioned. Of this I am certain.

But we can’t force it. At the risk of antagonizing the long-suffering Philadelphia 76ers fans, who adopted this phrase “trust the process,” be patient. It’ll happen.

This does not mean you can sit back and just wish. I worked very hard on my life this past year. I created space mechanically, mentally and emotionally for the things I need and want. Friends, physical activity, travel, writing and yes, even a romantic life (still working on that one). Think of it as making space for the universe to fill in your gaps.

I needed the time to go through the loneliness of living alone before being at peace with it. I needed time to develop new friends and recharge old friendships. And frankly, I needed time to find direction with my book. It required adjusting my life’s gait for that unplowed path, slowing down, being more chill — zen, even? — and enjoying the beauty of what I do have.

By the time you read this, the days will be getting longer. The light is returning. It’ll soon be a new year, and I have a feeling that 2025 could be a good one. Give yourself space these next few weeks to think about possibilities, to dream. Don’t dwell on obstacles and concerns too much, but recognize them. Move them aside brick by brick, and before you know it, you’ll have the foundation for a new life.

Give it thought, give it space, but above all, give it time.