al roker's night sweats

40 degrees and emotionally overcast

I live in the kind of neighborhood with a lot of open windows. Lately, my un-guilty pleasure is walking past houses on my street and peering in to see what my neighbors watch on TV. “Jeopardy” (yawn!) is a common one, as are the latest streaming shows du jour. But one night, I saw something most unusual.

The house to my left, a middle-aged couple, was watching a live weather forecast. But, I shouldn’t be surprised. America’s national pastime is complaining, and our favorite thing to complain about is the weather. For some, it’s a conversational crutch when small talk begins to wane, and for others a way of life.

—

The worst job I ever had was at a consulting firm in my mid-twenties. When I wasn’t taking cat naps in my cubicle or stress scrolling on LinkedIn, I engaged in our national pastime around a literal water cooler.

I had no idea how to hold casual conversation with my older, largely White colleagues, but I could always rely on “It was so nice out yesterday! Gotta love that mid-winter heatwave!” We’d chuckle, then return to consulting for the fourth largest fossil fuel company in the world.

This winter was incredibly mild in Boston, and some say that will become the norm across the Northeast, you guessed it, due to climate change. I hate snow and the postnasal drip that comes with cold air, but even I’m uncomfortable with what could be the end of winter as we know it.

The thought of saying goodbye to snowy, crisp winters would be like the death of a problematic family member. I’d grieve for a respectable amount of time before feeling… truly delighted?

Famed weatherman Al Roker was one of the most visible Black people in media growing up, and one of my childhood idols. But I suspect reporting on deadly weather events daily gave him night-sweats. It’s probably why light-hearted weather forecasting is a thing of the past; meteorologists are now on the frontlines of climate discourse themselves.

—

I decided to make the most of the early spring weather, and because I’m surrounded by White people, I did something I never do: go running in the rain.

(Running in the rain is one of several ways immigrant parents believe you catch a cold. The other ways are: going to sleep with your hair wet; going outside with your hair wet; and going outside when it is wet.)

My friend Alexis famously told me “summer and spring are more pussy, while winter and fall are more cunty.” If you don’t know what that means, I simply cannot help you.

And, she’s on to something; humans evolved to behave differently through the seasons. In the winter, I’m reclusive, moody, and prone to buying dark nail polish. As the sun returns and the days grow longer, my desire to socialize beckons me outside. I remember that people are plants.

Me pretending to mourn the end of winter

New Work

• I wrote this cute lil story about foraging and finding community in Boston for World Wildlife

Things I’m shouting about

• I was lucky enough to snag Beyoncé tour tickets, but I consider it a work from home expense to boost team morale. (It’s me, I’m the team). Can I write that off on my taxes?