When I was a youngen, I was different than all the other kids in a fundamental way: I hated the summer. Sure, you got school off, but I just never cared about beach trips and sweating on my own couch. When it came to naming your favorite season, you were cool if you said “summer” (and gay if you said “spring”, and a total nerd if you said “autumn” because that word is stupid). I went against the grain. I always said “winter.” Here’s why.
I recently “survived” one of the worst storms to hit the Northeastern United States ever. I put that in quotes because I was about a million miles away from any real danger, and anyone who lives in a more hurricane-prone area will laugh at how much I cower if Mother Nature so much as sneezes in my direction. From my perspective, it was definitely the closest I’ve come to being a statistic on a FEMA graph, but that’s like saying The Rock is the closest thing to a real wrestler I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t change the fact that it was still not even close.
But, I am a child of the Internet, and as such I am able to gather anecdotal evidence from friends and strangers to make sweeping generalizations about the human race. Having such a huge natural phenomenon cut as close as it did makes you realize a few key things about our beautiful world. Like the fact that it wants to kill you.