last night was one of those crazy slush storms, where the stuff falling out of the sky is neither snow nor rain, but a sort of non-Newtonian fluid that most resembles a flavorless slurpee. it looks white and solid like snow until you step in it, but then you sploosh through two inches of water and ice chunks. but compress it enough and it turns back into a mooshy, slippery solid that coats the streets and sidewalks and makes the whole world treacherously slippery and beautiful.

at 9pm i found myself with the choice of waiting 25 minutes for the next bus (remember when you didn’t have a way of looking up when the next bus was coming? whew.) and then riding 10 minutes home, or slogging through the storm to arrive home at approximately the same time. i opted to walk. i usually do.

but i wasn’t really prepared for just HOW slippery/sloppy/sloggy it was going to be out there, and i was wearing shoes with zero traction. the snow began to come down again as i left the train station. i skidded across the street and then sank ankle deep in a camouflaged puddle.

earlier that evening i’d had dinner with M, who was in town on business. she reminded me of something i hadn’t thought of in a while, something i used to say to her during the summer we’d trained for the 2008 chicago marathon together.* during really hard training runs, during those dark miles, i’d ask M, “are you in it?” it means, what you’re going through right now might suck, but fighting it will be worse than just acknowledging it. be in it. wallow in it if you have to, but just accept that it’s where you are and that you’re moving through it. i love this piece of advice. it’s so simple and transformative. not easy to apply, sometimes, but its power is amazing. try it some time.

i hadn’t thought of this in a while until M brought it up, and it was still with me on my walk home that night. i realized that this was going to be a slow, slippery, sloppy wet walk home. but it wasn’t so terribly cold out, i had a warm coat and hat, i was not in a hurry to be anywhere, and still warmed inside from the whiskey and the visit with an old and dear friend. and as soon as i remembered to ask myself, “are you in it?” then i was. i stopped fighting the weather and started being in it. and then i started enjoying it.

the snow came down thickly in huge gloppy flakes that clustered on my eyelashes and made the whole world sparkle when i blinked. i and everyone else on the street staggered like drunkards on the slippery snow, making slow progress. city light bounced off the low flat snowclouds and the bare trees were silhouetted dark against a surprisingly bright yellow-white sky. i stopped to take pictures of branches bending over under the weight of the snow, flake upon flake perfectly stacked up on each twig and branch. at some point i looked up and laughed out loud at the sheer beauty of it all.

thank you, M, for giving that gift back to me. i’ll try not to forget it again.

credit where credit’s due; i’m no zen master. but i’d learned it from another friend who had been gifted it by his buddhist friend in the midst of a difficult breakup.