Snow Anxiety, V25, #13

I have snow anxiety.

I wasn’t aware of it till now.

I returned from New York after visiting my family on Friday, right before our first big storm hit. This year, I was prepared—I had purchased a snowblower. Except when I checked it out a few weeks back, I discovered it wouldn’t turn over (whatever that means).

My neighbor Harvey, a fireman, took the machine to work because one of the guys on the crew is a mechanic. They had fun goofing around with it and replacing the carburetor (whatever that is).

As Harvey was bringing the machine back to me, one of the wheels fell off.

Because it was a holiday weekend, the repair shop was closed. So I shoveled—three times that day as the snow continued to fall. By bedtime, the drive was clean, and I was pooped.

Sunday morning, I looked outside. It had snowed all night—seemed as if I hadn’t done a thing the day before.

I put on my warm clothes and did the deed again.

All clean.

Tuesday morning, I awoke to the sound of snow plows on the street.
Oh no… it must have snowed again.
That’s when I realized: I have snow anxiety.

The snowblower was back in my garage, the wheel fixed, except I’d never used it. I wasn’t raised in the land of machines.

I was out there shoveling the icy chunks the plows had left at my driveway entrance when Harvey drove by. Lucky me. Fifteen minutes later, he was showing me how to work the snowblower, and the drive was done in a flash.

Now the anxiety has transferred to the snowblower.
I’m not a machine kinda gal.
What if Harvey’s at work?
What if I flood the something-or-other?
What if I have no idea what to do?

Oh. Wait.

None of that’s happening now.

Right now, my driveway is open and clean. It’s not snowing.

Maybe I can choose something other than snow anxiety. Maybe I can trust that I can handle what’s actually happening—not what might happen, not what already happened, but this moment.

I call this participatory surrender: engaging in the moment and letting the next action reveal itself. Thought isn’t required—only action. Showing up, creating a result, listening. Not to my anxious mind, but to something greater. To the silence within that holds my wisdom.

It’s always present, and it has my back.
I’ve learned I can handle whatever comes—maybe not ahead of time, but always when it’s actually happening.

So why fret?

It will snow again.

And when it does, I’ll figure it out.

It seems I always do.

Blessings and Joy,

P.S. I will be facilitating a course, The Power of Surrender, beginning Thursday, January 22, 2026. Click HERE for more info.