The past few days have seen a slow dusting of snow, and in the evenings, Britney and I have found ourselves snug on the couch with the fire warming us in the living room. Outside, the snow accumulates, casting a tranquil hush over the night. We’ve been relishing the quiet, peaceful, and cozy atmosphere that blankets our home on these chilly winter nights.

It is hard not to stare at the snow falling and not have a grin break out on my face. My memory wanders back to being a kid, ripping out of bed in the middle of the night and tearing open the blinds to see if it snowed. The crushing disappointment of staring out the window and seeing dry concrete was my first introduction to deep emotional pain. But the elation, the joy, and the sacredness of seeing a snow-covered driveway made life worth living.

But the snow day was not promised yet! Kids today will never know the anxious, energy-filling TV rooms across the city. Children huddled around the TV as local news droned on; we weren’t listening to the news; our eyes glued to the bottom ticker accounting local school districts closing for a snow day. The districts went by alphabetically and screams for people to be quiet grew as your school’s name came closer as if the silence made reading easier. Fingers crossed, promises made to God about doing homework and not fighting parents, anything to tip the odds of closure in your favor. The fate of your day, your freedom, hanging in the balance as a few words scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Yet another moment of either disappointment or jubilation awaited us, with dreams crushed some days, while more often than not, our wishes came true as our school’s name finally flashed across the screen, signaling an exhilarating adventure into the wild tundra.

Snow days were memorable for a couple of reasons. First, they were unexpected—a gift from God, an impromptu invitation to adventure. Second, there was an army of neighborhood kids to wreck havoc with. These days were full of awe, wonder, and a bit of mischief. Their were neighborhood snowball wars, (to call the day long squirmishes we found ourselves in the the next street over a fight simply does not do it justice) sled races, snow angels, the occasional eating of snow while snickering about not eating the yellow kind, it was like a special playground appeared, provided by nature to be enjoyed to the fullest.

I am hard-pressed to remember more special and sacred days than a snow closure when we journeyed out to see what we could find.

But as I sit reminiscing, I quickly turn to the things I need to do tomorrow, and the snow piling up outside loses its magic and transforms into a nuisance. It is funny to me how snow days as a child were something I dreamed of, and now, as an adult, I could go without them.

If I am being honest, it’s the interruption I can’t handle. I have written about this before, but interruptions during a road trip are an invitation for adventure! But a snow day in the middle of a work week isn’t just an interruption; it’s inconvenient. As I considered this tendency, I noticed a theme. I can quickly lose my inner kid, who is down to play, take a long way around, stop, and smell the roses. The kid who sat on his parent’s bed begging the TV to declare a snow day.

As I woke up the following day, I decided to let my inner kid come out to play. As I pulled out into the snow for an early morning meeting, the snowflakes blowing past my windshield reminded me of the Millennium Falcon jumping into hyperspeed. I gripped the steering wheel tighter and prepared for an intergalactic escape from the Galactic Empire.

A smile crept back onto my face, and I’m really enjoying these snow days.