being alive

There is a particular satisfaction that I find in cold weather. It is not the sensation of the harsh winds amplifying the bitter coldness as it rushes my face, nor is it the energy that is needed to stay warm in such dire conditions. It is much simpler and more immediately gratifying, which is maybe why I am so drawn to this phenomenon. When the weather outside is frightful,
we can see our own breath.

I've always been intrigued by this idea, the thought of seeing your own respiration, one of two things that truly keeps us alive at all times. Though it may seem obvious, we often forget that we breathe at all, and the idea that breathing is essential can be some people in the whirlwind that is everyday life. When the temperature drops, there are always complaints, of course, but I've found it to be invigorating, to witness this constant reminder of how I am alive. I imagine what it would feel like to ride my breath as some small molecule, forced out of my hot lungs and up the elevator of my windpipe, into the dark humidity of my mouth and finally glimpsing light for the first time ever, expelled out into the world as a warm newborn, only to be dissipated immediately by the frigid air around it.

I may not be persuasive enough with my description, so maybe I can offer another example. When football players are lining up for an important play on a cold day, there's a chance to witness something that is pretty incredible. They line up in their stances, breathing hard smoke every half-second or so, clearly fatigued from the previous action. At this point, the breathing is erratic; you'll see chaotic puffs seeping out of random face-masks. As the quarterback calls out his signals, something curious begins to happen. As each player hones in on the snap count, his concentration is piqued, and his breathing slows. Suddenly, you start to see a shared breathing pattern developing, all 22 players exhaling within a half second window of each other. These are small fractions of time, mind you, so it takes careful attention to detail, but if you watch closely enough, there is a moment just before the ball is snapped when one might see all 22 athletes blow out a fine white smoke in perfect unison, and the expelled breath of opponents mixes down along the line of scrimmage. In a split second, it's all erased as helmets crash and massive amounts of force are exerted in pursuit of the pigskin.

Today, I will go outside into 20 degree weather and just breathe. I'll suck in cold air through my red-fringed nostrils and feel the physicality of that air as it enlivens me, feel the oxygen rushing through my bloodstream. Then I'll slowly exhale, eyes crossed as I watch a small piece of my life leave my body forever, curling and fading into the blue sky like a forgotten cloud.