When the snow fell
There are moments in life that stand out for their impact on us. Those moments can be triumphant or tragic. These moments can be remembered fondly as you tell the story over and over to different people allowing them to feel a glimpse of the joy you felt during it, or they can be lamented for their traumatic impact on you.
One such moment that stands out vividly is neither tragic nor triumphant. It was surreal, serene, and rare.
It was 2013, if my scattered memory serves me right. I often have memory issues with the concept of time, and you can blame the several concussions.
My friend, Dom, rented a car to drive down to the Arnold Classic from Cleveland. This is a three-hour drive. Nothing long, but the weather looked ominous, and he wanted a good car in the snow.
We spent the day walking around, seeing friends, and taking in the booths and various fitness and lifting events.
We planned to be back late at night, so I had my co-worker, Lauren, watch Lily as she was a puppy, and I didn’t want to leave her alone for the day. Circle back to the date, 2013, and the only reason I remember it was 2013 is that she is ten years old, and I got her in 2012. Odd way to remember a specific year, but it works.
We left in the evening before the snow came and traveled I-71 back to Cleveland. We hurried to avoid the impending whitewash of the roads because when it snows in Cleveland, you are blanketed with it. Winters are challenging near Lake Erie, and I have had enough experience in those conditions to navigate the roads safely, but being on a highway during one is not my idea of a fun time.
Unfortunately, we didn’t make it back in time before it started to fall, and it came down heavy. We returned to Dom’s house, and he asked me to return the rental car before the morning deadline.
In the meantime, there is enough snow on the ground to give the entire area a clean feeling of peaceful white. If you have never witnessed fresh snow, it’s stunning and serene. There are a few things in nature that are truly peaceful. A morning sunset on the beach, the isolation of the woods, the crisp cool air on a mountain, and one of them is fresh snow falling on a quiet city.
I was planning to return home as Lily was safe and sound at Lauren’s house, but something unique happened before that.
The entire city of Mentor was in a blackout.
Mentor is a suburb of Cleveland. It is rated one of the best places to live in Ohio — and, to be honest, America — for the affordable cost of living, low crime rate, incredible school system, and plenty of amenities for living and entertainment.
On this night, the town was black as death, as the opposite image of sheets of white snow covered the quiet town. A few random convenience stores were running on generators, but most were closed. I stopped at a gas station just before it closed and filled the tank while grabbing a snack. As I finished pumping gas, the store closed for the night.
I was on Tyler Blvd, and there was no street light, store, business, or home with lights. Very few cars were on the road as it was late at night, and there was no reason to drive in these conditions.
I drove.
I decided to stay out in this peaceful winter landscape. Lily was safe at my friend’s house, as I called her, and she had a generator on with electric heat. My home had gas heat, and I wasn’t going to pick her up and go home to a freezing house.
I drove nowhere.
I took in the peace. I felt like it was a horror movie scene, which comforted me. The empty roads, the sheet of white snow, the blackness of nothing on; it felt like a version of Silent Hill. After about 90 minutes of driving, I pulled into a hotel parking lot. I turned the car’s lights off, kept the heat on, put my seat back, and stayed silent.
I could hear nothing but the idle hum of the engine and the heater keeping me warm on a frigid late winter night.
I fell asleep in the most peaceful way possible. It isn’t easy to sleep in a car, but I ended up drifting off and staying asleep for a few hours. When I woke up, it was still dark and quiet, and the power was still out. I decided to drive home and wait until the rental place opened in the morning to exchange the vehicle for my parked car.
My home was without heat. I ran water through the pipes at a trickle to avoid the potential freeze, and I went into my bedroom, covering myself in blankets as the home’s temperature was in the high 40s. Subzero temperatures are not uncommon in Northern Ohio; therefore, this is expected.
When the time came, I returned the car and drove home.
This memory pops up almost every winter. It’s not a frequent memory, but it’s a reminder of how peaceful the world can be when we find those moments.
At this time in my life, I was in internal chaos. I was divorced and working at a job I didn’t want to be at. I was an Inspector for the Lake County Department of Utilities and an independent personal trainer. The day job was decent enough and was a highly sought-after government position, but there was no upward mobility, which was unfulfilling for me. I wasn’t content with making a decent wage with excellent benefits, working with men I didn’t like, and a boss I had no respect for.
The gym I moved to Ohio to buy into, Gorilla Pit, ended badly as the owner ruined an excellent business with his terrible decisions. I didn’t buy into it and left to do my own thing.
That owner, Ty, is now deceased from Covid. A tragic end to a life that could have been amazing if he was able to run his business as well as it looked on the surface.
I left my beloved NYC in 2009 and cried as I saw the skyline fade away in the side view mirror of the rented U-Haul. I hated Ohio at the time, as it represented pain and struggle. I regretted the move on the first day moving into the new apartment complex, Fox Run because I am used to chaos, crowds, and a bustling metropolis. Suburban life was foreign to me, and I felt uneasy when going into a Wal-Mart at 7pm to grab a few things for the move-in and seeing the parking lot damn near empty and no lines at the register.
That was anxiety-inducing, and the subsequent life changes iced my disdain for Ohio.
The reality was more straightforward. Ohio wasn’t to blame; my decisions were.
I chose to get involved in a business I didn’t do due diligence on. My ex-wife and I decided to move to Ohio impulsively to live better (the cost of living in NYC is atrocious) save our marriage (we spent little time together due to working like animals to pay our bills), and provide a unique opportunity at a training facility that had all the potential in the world to be well-known in America.
I chose to cheat on her and break her heart. Repeatedly.
I chose to be involved with a married woman and refused to stop talking to her.
I chose to ignore her begging me to come back and refusing to.
I chose to apply to LCDU, and I remember her words distinctly upon getting that job.
“I feel this gives you a reason to leave now.”
I didn’t answer, as I knew she was right. I had the stability of a good income, the benefits package I needed, and the means to not be in a co-dependent, toxic marriage in which we both had no business being in.
I blamed Ohio because it was easy to deflect instead of looking inward at my shortcomings, bad decisions, and not knowing what the hell I wanted in my life.
I moved out of Ohio in the late fall of 2013 and left it behind for good. I also left behind amazing friends like the man mentioned in this story. People like Phil Rossi, who recently visited me in KC, and every so often, one of my old co-workers at LCDU will drop me a line to see how I am doing.
I look at Ohio differently today, as I no longer blame a location for my issues; I blamed myself and fixed my shit. It didn’t come without future heartbreak, but it came eventually.
I will return to Ohio and revisit my friends, and I will have been purged of the irrational hatred for a state that didn’t deserve to be hated for these reasons.
But…
I felt peace amid my chaos on this one winter night in a darkened town coated in fresh white snow.
Peace is more frequent now, but I will never forget the calming feeling of this surreal scene.
Life is wonderful sometimes. Find your wonder and cherish it.
