Why I’m not a meteorologist…and why I maybe should be.
Writing outside is one of my most favorite things. When I read last week that we could expect seventy-degree weather here in Nashville today, I started planning to take a trip to the coffee shop with a lovely friend to soak up sunshine and lay down words. After a brief glance at the forecast this morning to be sure that the weatherman still had it right, I headed out. It was still chilly when I left at noon, but I had the utmost faith that the day would warm up, the sun would peek from behind the clouds, and I would begin work on my masterpiece.
What happened instead were gusts of wind that were probably about twenty miles per hour at some points, a temperature that never reached above sixty, and lots of goosebumps. Like the eternal optimist I am, I had ordered a frozen coffee drink, imagining that it would be refreshing once the heat of the day finally arrived. The coffee was delicious; the day was freezing.
I walked away with a couple of observations. First of all, my lovely friend is even lovelier than I thought. She stayed with me for four hours as we both stubbornly awaited the promised temperatures and encouraged me to buy a hot coffee when they never arrived. She also prodded me through my work for the day, provided possible topics for marketing blogs, and kept me laughing when I got to take a break. Mostly, though, she suffered those crazy winds with me like a trooper.
I also noted that I wouldn’t mind being a weather forecaster. Seriously. How many other jobs out there would allow me to be wrong more than half the time and not get fired? I think I would always err on the side of caution, however optimistic I usually am. I’d hate to get everyone’s hopes up for a beautiful spring day while Mother Nature delivered, well, February.