Relativity Unlocks Appreciation

Just before Christmas, our family left the blustery cold of northern Minnesota on a three-day road trip to Cocoa Beach, Florida. The temperatures were in the teens — and worse — here at home, so we couldn’t wait to get to our destination and forecasted highs in the 70s and 80s.

We were not disappointed. In fact, we started turning cartwheels in Tennessee and, later, Alabama when highs began climbing into the 50s. By the time we got to Cocoa Beach on Christmas Eve, we were beside ourselves with glee that temperatures were still in the 60s the night we arrived.

Six short days later, we blew off the last day of our stay and left for home early because highs were forecast to be only in the 60s.

We’ve been back here in Moorhead for a few weeks now, and we’ve been covered in snow and cold. Yesterday highs soared into the upper 30s, and it remained that way overnight — one result being that genuine pavement reappeared on our driveway and in the street. You could actually see life re-emerging in people as they went about their business yesterday. It was as though we were all prairie dogs popping out of our holes, looking at each other as if to say, “Herb, you’re still alive! Me too!” (Then we grab hands and dance, like the Whos did in “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”) Oh, the joys 37 degrees can bring.

This morning at the bus stop, I complained about the cold. It was foggy — and only 37.

We are either incredibly fickle (a distinct possibility) or wildly prone to falling for the mental tricks that relativity plays on us.

The other day when my lovely wife and I were shopping at Herberger’s department store, I saw a beautiful framed picture featuring words that truly spoke to me. It was gorgeous in every way. But it was $100 — well over my usual limit of $25, and still far beyond my stretch-to-my-tiptoes ceiling of $50.

But then my wife found a store coupon for $50 off a $100 purchase.

So this morning I not only bought my precious poster for only $50, I floated out of the store with it, riding on a completely make-believe, advertising-contrived wave of goodwill and feeling pretty damn proud of myself and my savvy purchasing decisions.

When I was 9, I was telling my 9-year-old son Kian a while back, I couldn’t wait to grow up. Getting older took forever, and I didn’t have forever.

Now, on the precipice of 50, time is screaming by way too fast — and “I don’t have forever” is taking on a whole new meaning.

Relativity has to be one of God’s many pranks. Even God must get bored sometimes, so surely He/She/It/They created relativity to keep us humans honest — and Himself/Herself/Itself/Themselves adequately entertained.

Then again, maybe God just wants us to be appreciative. Sometimes the only way to get there is through the path of temporary — or is that imaginary? — loss.

Peter Vogt

I’m a writer. An essayist, to be more exact. I tell stories here—true stories, from my own life, in hopes they will make a positive difference in yours.

I share laughs and tears, insights and observations, frustrations and realizations, relying all the while on the storytelling wisdom of Julia Cameron, author of The Right to Write.

It is a great paradox that the more personal, focused, and specific your writing becomes, the more universally it communicates.