Thursday, December 16, 2010

For the first time in years, I’m feeling the cold bite of winter, and rather than bundle up with a jacket and other seasonally appropriate accoutrements, I’ve chosen to wrap myself in concern. I’ve been trying to determine what prompted this change, and I’ve traced the decreased tolerance to a few explanations, none of them comforting. But commit them here I must for posterity’s sake. I need to remember exactly when I got soft.

That’s the sad fact of what’s happened, you know. I’ve lost my grit. The ability to function without a jacket wasn’t just convenient and cost-effective. It was a badge of honor for serving in Chicago, where my very understanding of harsh climate was defined. Sub-20 qualified as a standard winter day. 30 or above was tolerable. And if the thermometer ever exceeded 40, it was, like, we’re going streaking, everybody, we’re going streaking up the quad and the gymnasium.

I’m in a different place now. Some days, when the chill is especially noticeable, I’ll point Weather.com to 60201 for a reference point. I remember how it was in Evanston, with the sharp cut of cold across the face upon stepping outdoors, and I can tie those memories to whatever number appears in today’s high. Then I look at the high for Charlotte, and invariably it’s 10 to 20 degrees warmer. But it simply doesn’t feel as such, and I don’t need a meteorologist to tell me why. For starters, I’m adapting to the warmer temperatures here. I’d also like to think southern gentrification plays a part. Finally, aging is likely another piece of the puzzle, and there are some mornings when it feels like I’m this close to recounting how driving to Service Merchandise was the only way to buy a thing.