Winter here has been a season of getting away with something. For months we've been running our laundry down the street in long-sleeve tees and drinking our cocktails on the sidewalk. I don't know about everyone else - maybe it's the Irish Catholic asleep at the base of my spine, but guilt is a motivator much more universal than that so probably I know more about everyone else than I think I do - but it's been difficult to enjoy skipping down the street in Keds and my denim jacket (I'm trying more for Babysitter's Club than I am for Taylor Swift, but the look I'm actually achieving is probably my mom circa 1992. Which is fine, my mom was and remains a stone fox) without also looking over my shoulder in a worried sort of way.

Today is a snow day. I've fired up the latest round of B&BWs candles that I purchased and then forgot about until they showed up at my office in a box that weighs approximately as much as I do, and I've settled into my couch with a cup of coffee and the work I brought home with me. Arwen and Enya are keeping me company - Enya softly in the background and Arwen either in my way or knocking things over out of sight. In between, she's making use of the Amazon Fresh bags that have accumulated in my living room because I keep forgetting to set them out for pickup. Arwen, not Enya.

This storm is a relief. It's something we can all agree on, something we all know what to do with. Last night I went to the grocery store on my way home, not because I needed anything (thank you, Amazon Fresh) but because, like - that's what you do, before a storm. I bought ketchup and frozen tater tots and talked to my favorite cashier for longer than the person in line behind me appreciated. I told her to get home safe and stay warm and then I came home, because that's what you do in a storm. It's a comfort, in otherwise uncertain times, for people to know what to do.

The snow coming down feels correct - ah, here we go. Here is New York in winter. That's more like it.

Of course, now that I don't need to feel guilty about leaving my coat behind when I go out to get a coffee, what I feel guilty about is writing dumb-ass blogs about what a relief this blizzard is when there are people who don't have shelter or the resources to stay safe and warm at home with tater tots and ketchup and a boyfriend who will do most of the shoveling. Please Lindsay, tell us more about how you feel weird. It is endlessly fascinating and important.

There's a lot about living in this city that is wildly unreasonable. A lot. The absurdity is magnified when someone who doesn't live here comes to visit - mostly (not always, not every time - but mostly) people very much can't wait to get away from the complete ridiculousness that I and eight million others have settled into. Trying to make the people I love love this place is like trying to make them love me. It is an alien language that isn't taught, but uncovered. Winter is - what is winter, here? Winter is what it means to carve a life into this place. That's not specific to NYC, no. Winter is a multi-purpose metaphor. I guess what I'm saying is, I am not myself outside of this place and this place is not this place without winter. So I'm glad that it's decided to join us, today.