Part One: The Waiting is the Hardest Part

"If patience is the key, it justifies apathy."

I've never been any good at waiting. I pace eagerly around airport terminals, weave aggressively around slow drivers, and flash a well-refined "evil eye" at those Dunkin Donut's craftsmen in charge of toasting my bagel: hurry up. 

This ineptitude is both a blessing and a curse.

For instance, it worked magically when I was six-years old and incapable of waiting outside the robust line to ride Splash Mountain (Disney World) without throwing a complete hissy fit. My intolerance quickly prompted my parents to invest in a "Fast Pass" for all future Disney endeavors, which in retrospect must have made me a happier child.

"Watch out Chris, this thing can totally go faster.."

Now, as I've matured into the Bostonian-dinosaurian that I am today, I find the curse of my impatience strikes me most severely in the midst of the dull, droning, winter months. Unfortunately, when you're in your early nineties, sledding and snowmen officially lose their appeal (no but really, 23 is tough).

January. This month has the acute ability to drain me of all creative ability and motivation. Living becomes drifting; this is not OK.

Post-Halloween through roughly Christmas day, I slip into an unscathed—almost blissful—state of denial. I prance along thinking that fall will reappear after New Years and seamlessly transition us into warm, long, summer evenings, and POOF, it’s July and I’m basking out on South Beach, Martha’s Vineyard. 

But no. Post-holiday haze, there’s this thing that occurs—and drags on—called the dead of winter. It’s in the back of all of our thick, New England heads until it finally sinks in, stinging our brains and freezing our limbs.  

As far as I’m concerned, this season only earns its keep at about 3,000 feet up on a bluebird day with a snowboard strapped to my feet and serious gear lining my bodice.

Otherwise, it just plain sucks. It drags on and on and I hardly even want to go out after work to drink swanky dirty martinis and pretend Boston has cool, new trendy spots.

Plans dissolve and efforts to see old friends give way to old episodes of Californication; I live vicariously through the self-inflicted misadventures of Hank Moody. I overplay an Elliot Smith CD in my car, but hardly listen. My tanqueray and tonics lose their flavor. The fire to my flame is doused.

And to what, pray tell, do we have to look forward to... Spring?


Nothing boils my blood quite like the in-between time (AKA March and April) in which the pinnacle of the season’s excitement consists of a bud growing on a tree at a snails pace. I mean, at least in the fall the leaves turn pretty and the air is crisp and clean and it just smells nice in general. Plus, it all unfolds pretty quickly.

Spring is like a damp stench you can't escape; it's a screeching sound that rings in your ears.. "I’m here for the long-haul, just to piss you off.” Long, rainy, humid, Easter, and CAN’T IT JUST BE JUNE ALREADY?

Per usual, Tom Petty, you are right. The waiting is the hardest part.

Unless, of course, you are invincible and immune to the effects of this New England nuance of a season and somehow tend to enjoy it. In that case, stop being so chipper. It's winter. 

In part two—since I'm not entirely Crimson and Clover and morose all over—I will share some simple, useful tips to help you make it through this long and winding winter season without losing your sanity (or sass).