Sometimes I rail against the heat of summer. It can be incredibly annoying to try to get through the day when it is hot, humid and muggy.
Winters can be even worse, chilling you to the bone on really bad days. Then there are the various seasonal hazards: snowstorms, hurricanes, and the other varieties of extreme weather that Nature throws as us.
I have a cousin who lives in L.A. Like me, he was born in NYC, but unlike me, he has escaped to a paradise of perfect days. It’s never too hot or cold, there is little humidity to speak of, and snow is nonexistent.
I completely understand why he would make that choice. Yet I have a feeling that without the extremes of weather, my life would be somehow impoverished.
So there you have it, a fundamental choice: I choose weather, and my cousin chooses no weather, and neither of us is wrong.
Seems to me there is a metaphor lurking here somewhere.