Cold weather, I can handle.
With the right combination of warm clothing, clunky waterproof boots and a trusty soundtrack of happy music to keep the blood pressure down and the attitude up, I manage to make it out alive.
Cold people, however, I can’t handle.
And not on an individual basis. Dealing with the occasional ice queen or an unfriendly colleague isn’t the end of the world. Coldness in isolation is manageable, and I’ve accepted it as an inescapable feature of the interpersonal landscape.
But coldness en masse, that’s a different story.
I once found myself surrounded by a tribe of uncaring, unthoughtful, cynical, terminally certain people who wouldn’t know warmth if it burned them on the ass.
And it corroded my spirit like an evil rust.
I was born on Valentine’s Day, for god’s sake.
So despite my efforts to infect the tribe with warmth and positivity, and no matter how many times I thought to myself, my love will wear you down eventually, not even the finest thermostat, the softest sweatshirt or the warmest cup of coffee could cure the culture of coldness.
And I eventually realized, I can’t dance to your fidgety tune.
So I took my music elsewhere.