Tipping Point

The tips of my fingers are a window into the winter version of my soul – yeah, it’s seasonal. Do you have a problem with that?

Since the temperature dipped below an acceptable number by native Floridian standards, I’ve taken to wearing fingerless gloves. Not so much fingerless as fingertipless – my knuckles and the area up to the next joint are shielded from my arch nemesis: WIND. The finger portions above are left to fen for themselves. Sink or swim. Freeze or remain thawed. Stiffen or wiggle.

And I’m a nail biter. Story of my life.

Entering my third winter in the land of Washingtonians, I’m taking a more calculated approach to easing into the chilly season. In the past, at the first sign of cold temperatures, I jumped into my thermal underwear – top and bottom. I wore thermals under everything and on every occasion. Wearing skirts and dresses was out of the question. With the new trend in leggings, this winter could be different. I’m not making any promises.

As DC solidifies as “home” and Florida feels more like a word in my vocabulary than a part of my identity, I want to fully live up to my Northerner shoes (boots). Fully = no more crying during the winter; no more self-imposed Seasonal Affective Disorder; no more using the hair dryer as a warm-up tool; no more sleeping in a sleeping bag under my down comforter.

Starting the season with exposed fingertips is my personal cheer of, “I think I can! I think I can! I’ll show you!” Not sure who “you” is.

Fingertipless gloves are also a practical choice, enabling me to retrieve my metro card and apartment keys without having to take off gloves and expose the entirety of my hand to the risk of becoming wind-chapped.

What was my point in writing this? Story of my life.