35 degrees.
In the fall, that temperature is the harbinger of doom. The first morning you wake up to that number, you become a survivalist. You throw on your flannel-lined jeans, your thermal socks, and a sweater so thick it could double as a bulletproof vest. You contemplate setting your thermostat to “Tropical Rainforest” and consider the ethical implications of stealing your neighbor’s Amazon package if it contains extra blankets!
When you walk outside, you pull your coat tighter, bracing yourself against the cruel, bone-chilling temperature. You waddle to your car like a burrito stuffed with anxiety and regret, convinced that frostbite is imminent. You mutter things like, “I’m not ready for this!” and “Why do I live here?” while cranking the heat up to levels that could melt a snowman. I even start using the mantra, ” I’m in Florida, I’m in Florida, I’m in Florida!” Faking it to become it only sometimes works I found!
But fast forward to February, when the temperature climbs up—yes, up—to 35 degrees, and suddenly, we are reborn. We burst from our homes like bears emerging from hibernation, blinking at the sun as if we’ve never seen daylight before.
“IT’S SO WARM!” we exclaim to our bewildered pets, who have given up trying to understand us.
Gone are the heavy coats, replaced with light jackets that we optimistically leave unzipped. Some brave souls opt for shorts, and if we’re feeling really wild, we dig out the flip-flops. Somewhere in the distance, an optimist fires up a grill. It doesn’t matter that there’s still snow on the ground—we’re suddenly ready for spring.
And if 35 degrees happens to coincide with direct sunlight? Oh, buddy. We are unstoppable. I have personally witnessed a grown man sunbathing on his porch in February, shirt off, arms spread wide, basking in the warmth of the above-freezing air. Birds aren’t even back yet, but if they were, they’d be laughing at us.
But this seasonal hypocrisy isn’t just about weather—it’s about life. When we’re young, we see change as a terrible, inconvenient thing. Much like 35 degrees in October, we resist it with every fiber of our being. New responsibilities? Unfamiliar challenges? The first signs of aging? Nope, no thank you. I will be buried in blankets of denial, thank you very much.
But then, at some point, we realize that change isn’t the enemy. When we get older (and wiser, or at least more tired), we start treating life’s fluctuations more like 35 degrees in February. Instead of fighting them, we say, “Oh, this isn’t so bad!” We stop fearing the shift and start finding the good in it.
The gray hairs? A sign we’ve survived things younger us would have fainted over.
The laugh lines? Proof that we’ve spent time with people who make us laugh. The changes we once dreaded become the things we learn to appreciate—or at the very least, tolerate with the help of coffee and a heated blanket.
So here’s my advice: the next time life gives you a chilly change, take a deep breath and pretend it’s February. And if that doesn’t work, just put on your swimsuit and go outside. If nothing else, the neighbors will get a good laugh.
Laughing automatically warms us!
The Blonde on the Prairie is a lover of ND. She is an author and motivational speaker, owner of “Monkey Balls” food truck and Joyologist to the elderly, the disabled and, now, also to children wherever she is needed during the school year and beyond.
