Drawn to the Chill with Quiet Fears

How do you feel about cold weather?

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about cold weather—something that pulls at me in ways I don’t fully understand. I’ve never lived in a place where winter rules the calendar, where snow blankets the streets and people sip hot drinks not as a treat but as a survival strategy. Still, a part of me is drawn to that chill, like it’s calling me to discover a version of myself I haven’t met yet.

I imagine it sometimes: stepping outside into crisp, icy air, the world hushed under a soft layer of snow. No sweating, no stickiness clinging to my skin. Just clean, clear cold. The kind that wakes you up rather than wears you down. The kind that makes you feel alive.

But alongside that curiosity… are my quiet fears.

What if it’s not as romantic as I picture? What if it’s harsh and biting and lonely? I’ve lived most of my life in warmer places, where the sun blazes and the air hangs heavy with humidity. Cold, real cold—not just a mild chill—feels like a different planet. A beautiful one, sure, but maybe not one I’m built for.

And there’s something more personal, too. I’ve had a fracture before, and there’s a rod inside my body. Sometimes I wonder, would the cold make it ache? Do people with injuries or metal inside them feel more pain when the temperature drops? Would winter bring not just snowflakes, but stiffness and discomfort I’ve never known before?

These aren’t overwhelming fears, but they linger. They whisper. Still, they don’t stop me. If anything, they make me want to find out even more. Maybe it’s not as hard as I think. Maybe the body adjusts. Maybe I’d thrive in the chill.

I dream of visiting Scotland first. Not just for the weather, but for the whole experience—the misty hills, the ancient castles, the quiet towns wrapped in fog. There’s a kind of poetry in the way that place looks in winter. And I want to walk through it. Not just as a tourist snapping photos, but as someone standing still, breathing it in, asking herself: Can I live like this?

I also think about the U.S.—places where snow falls like clockwork, where winter has traditions and rituals. I want to feel it all for myself. The first icy wind on my face. The crunch of snow under my boots. The way a hot drink warms not just your hands, but your heart.

Maybe I’ll love it. Maybe I’ll shiver and complain. Maybe I’ll ache in ways I didn’t expect. But maybe—just maybe—I’ll find something in the cold that I didn’t know I was missing.

And isn’t that what travel is about? Not just seeing new places, but discovering hidden pieces of yourself?

For now, I remain here—warm, sticky, and dreaming. Drawn to the chill, carrying my quiet fears like a packed bag. Waiting for the moment I finally step into that cold, unfamiliar air and see what it has to teach me.