When I was in high school, in the dead of another Atlanta winter (I know, I know, Atlanta winters are mild, but I had moved from South Florida when I was fifteen. Anything below 50 was frigid), I prayed it would snow so I could miss a day of school.
It didn’t happen very often.
I was always disappointed when the weatherman would call for snow at night, only to wake up in the morning and the ground was not white, just the color of sleeping grass and faded pine straw. I had to go to school. It was devastating (not really, but it felt like it).
What I realized over time was what seemed devastating in the moment actually led to something amazing. It’s called the “Snow Day.” A day in the warmth of spring which would have been a normal day of school, but because it had not snowed, it became a holiday. I didn’t have to wake up early, didn’t have to bundle up to go outside, didn’t have to worry about studying or practicing sports. It was a true day off. Better than Saturday, even, because it was unexpected and there were no other commitments.