No Cozy Without Cold

I sit here, paralyzed by my own coziness. A bubble of warm air hovers delicately around me. It’s Christmas eve and my mom’s house is cold. Sometimes it feels like the walls aren’t meant to keep any heat in, but just to blockade the wind. There is a structure to the air around me. My eyes droop as my warmth continues to radiate through the still crisp air…

And then my mom calls me to help my brother find Christmas tree decorations. They’re in the basement. My protests are futile.

The basement is somehow 5 degrees colder than the upstairs. The air is just as still, but the stone floor steals every last molecule of heat from my dead stiff feet. I remind myself that coziness means nothing without a penetrating cold to warm up from. The hours are short and I fight old thought patterns. It’s not what I experience. It’s how I interpret the story that matters.