100 Reasons To Not Kill Yourself: #72.

Well, I’m twenty-eight posts into this sucker and I have to admit… I’m wavering; coming up with one hundred reasons to embrace life over death is proving more difficult than I ever would have imagined.

This is a job for someone who frolics with unicorns in their dreams and spins metaphorical rainbows everywhere they go, not a forty-something, broken-down bellman turned hack writer/blogger.

But here we are. So here we go.

#72: Facing A Snowstorm Alone.

Yes, this one is decidedly Canadian, but no, I haven’t buckled under the pressure. Ride this storm out with me, won’t you? Though being with me goes against the grain of this entry… Aw the hell with it. Here we go…

I reside a mere ten minutes away from the hotel where I (mostly) live and work (sometimes) at and so walking makes more sense than firing up the ole mini-van and trying to find a parking space four days a week. (I work eleven-hour days and get three days off a week. But you didn’t really need to know that, did you? #UselessInfo)

For five months of the year I am forced to impersonate an Arctic explorer who must brave the howling winds, icy temperatures and drifts of white precipitation in order to reach an outpost where thousands of travelers congregate to eat, drink, smoke weed (It’s legal! Thanks, Justin!) and do hookers named Mary.

I am a shift worker (who can sometimes be shifty) and so there are winter mornings where I must head out the door at 5:30 am, when the night still holds sway over Niagara Falls and the daylight’s approach can barely be perceived.

In other words, it’s quiet, devoid of life, and creepy.

But the emptiness holds a specific form of beauty.

I get to make fresh footprints on my lawn, my driveway and the frozen flower beds of any neighbors that piss me off. (The trick is to really crunch your boots down and snap the buds just below the surface.) I can close my eyes (briefly, you never know who else is out there) and really hear the winter wind in all its glory. The icy temps push me to move faster than I would normally and leave me feeling invigorated. Until I go numb.

I am alone with my thoughts as the storm, the ultimate sign of a planet’s life-force, rages.Β Β 

As a bellman I have been privileged to have met an incalculable number of people from all corners of the globe. One such individual was a veteran of the Second World War who found similar contentment in the wintry quiet.

“I just got back from overseas. I was still in my uniform and I took the bus across the border to Niagara Falls in the dead of winter. I made my way to the base of the Falls and I just stood there with my body getting colder by the minute as the mist coated me. There was absolutely no one else around, which I needed after being surrounded by so many people and so much… (his voice just trailed off as he struggled in vain to find the right words) It was something I’ll never forget.”

I certainly never did.

See you in the lobby, friends…

About The Hook

Husband. Father. Bellman. Author of The Bellman Chronicles. Reader of comic books and observer and chronicler of the human condition. And to my wife's eternal dismay, a mere mortal and non-vampire. I'm often told I look like your uncle, cousin, etc. If I wore a hat, I'd hang it on a hat rack in my home in Niagara Falls, Canada. You can call me The Hook, everyone else does.
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25 Responses to 100 Reasons To Not Kill Yourself: #72.

  1. For me, the overwhelming reason is the sheer amount of damage it would do to those who care. That thought has had me in hospital twice when I had a go and thought about the wreckage I’d leave.

  2. Being alone early in the morning is pretty special. Even as a kid I enjoyed watching the dawn come. It’s spiritual.

  3. 3bones says:

    I love mornings too, and although I have been retired for almost 20 months now I still like to get up at 6:00 AM, which for me is sleeping in a half hour from when I was working. As for the crunching of your boots down to snap the buds just below the surface? Hopefully, your neighbours don’t read your blog! Have a good week, Hook …

  4. Sun rises, sun sets, a baby’s smile, children’s laughter, an old man dancing to music from yesteryear, a good meal with someone you love, laughing over a disastrous meal with someone you love, sharing popcorn, sharing generally, a letter from an old firend out of the blue, writing a letter to someone on your mind, walking in fresh snow, walking in the rain, along a beach, in the forest, listening to birdsong, watching nature. So many things worth living for Hook.

  5. forgot owning a cat/ dog, having a puppy choose you,

  6. Doug in Oakland says:

    Having lived on the actual West coast all of my life, I have very limited experience with snow. We always celebrated it when it snowed in Eureka, which was about a half-dozen times in the 23 years I lived there.
    It rains a lot, though, and walking in the rain just doesn’t seem like the same kind of experience you are describing. In fact, moving to Oakland in ’84 improved my depression simply because it doesn’t rain so damn much here.
    But I walked to work (or rode public transport) almost the entire 32 years I was in the workforce, so I can relate to those pre-work walking mental states, especially the pre-dawn ones when I was working the breakfast shift at the restaurant.
    Sometimes I had been up all night before those shifts, but I won’t talk any more about that.

  7. The idea of missing the possibilities of a new day has to be an incentive to stay with us. Excellent, Hook.

  8. Haven’t seen a single flake this year!! YAH!! Another reason I love living in Texas. Saw some beautiful photos of the frozen falls though… what a sight! Hope you have a good week Robert! ❀

  9. Dave Ply says:

    A quote I’ve always liked: “The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper. — Eden Phillpotts.” Just keep looking for the magic, Hook.

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