Perspective

In the recent snows, which were unusually persistent for our normally moderate climate, I had an interesting reaction, especially compared to those around me. I found myself walking home in the winter wonderland and breaking out into uncontrollable laughter at intervals all the way home. Most of the comments I have heard from others have been more Grinch-like.

Now I am not typically the one expressing delight in the face of gloom. On the continuum from Eeyore to Pollyanna, I lean moderately towards the Eeyore side. I am not a pessimist, but I'm usually aware of the footsteps of impending doom. In any case, as someone eloquently expressed it, a pessimist is what an optimist calls a realist. This made my reaction puzzling until I factored in perspective.

I used to live out in the county with the coyotes and other furry woodland creatures. I lived in a house—I want to make that clear. I didn't want to imply that I was Grizzly Adams, eating squirrels and such-like, although I did have to contend with a woodpecker who kept on trying to eat the house, (immediately outside my bedroom window in the wee hours). With a 45 minute commute (in good weather) and some formidable hills, snow was considered with much trepidation. There were times that I couldn’t make it down off the hill and there was one time that I had to crash at a friend’s house in town when freezing rain made the roads impossibly impassable. I crashed to avoid a crash—cue ironic music.

Not having to drive made all the difference. I currently live within easy walking distance of work, and even though exercise is bad for you I can walk in a pinch. While driving, I can actually negotiate snowy roads with some confidence, as long as I didn’t have to share the road with people who don’t believe in the laws of physics. I remember a particularly harrowing journey from Portland to Seattle when severe winter weather converted the journey into an epic 12 hour trek. There was a stretch of road near Olympia where freezing rain had turned the roadway into a skating rink. As I crept cautiously along at 10 miles an hour, I was constantly passed by brain dead S.U.V. drivers doing 50, apparently blissfully unaware of the vehicles (one every few hundred yards) who had ended in the ditch. At a rough guess, some 90 to 95% of the wrecks were S.U.V.s.

I’m not even that stressed when someone else is doing the driving. When I was young, living in a country where traffic is always an adventure, I always wanted to sit in the front seat of the bus. I never understood why my Mom wanted to sit further back. I think her philosophy was that if we were going to die, she would just as soon not have that much warning. When our driver was racing alongside another bus, on a narrow two-lane road (over hills and around blind corners), sending motorcycles and bicycles into the ditch in desperate fits of self-preservation, all I felt was mild interest and surprise. I’m not saying I would have the same indifference today, older and hopefully wiser, but I would still be less concerned then if I was doing the driving myself. Perspective is everything.