Finding the excitement in ‘firsts’

“Snow!” the physics teacher exclaimed while pointing out the window. The whole class turned around, and I was earnestly confused. I have lived my entire life in New York and have become accustomed to, if not irritated by, snow. However, here there were students galore peering out the window in amazement. It then struck me, for most of these students it was their first snow ever.

These students were international students, mostly from either southern China or Israel. Places where not much snow occurs, and for these students it was sheer awe. Even if they understood the concept of snow, there is nothing like seeing it for real; even my physics teacher, who is from a southern island of England, where there is not much snow and has lived in the U.S. for many years was amazed. No matter how hard I try, I cannot understand their amazement. 

I spent the rest of the period thinking what it would be like to experience something, like snow, for the first time. I probably should have been paying attention to the rest of the lecture, yet, the next thing I knew, the period was nearly over. 

While I sat pensively, my mind on snow, I tried to recall new experiences of mine, like traveling on an airplane for the first time: the rush of lifting off, the fear of never coming back down to earth. My first A grade, the rush of waiting for the test, then the fear of getting anything below a C. My first debate, the rush of speaking for the first time on issues about which I had a strong opinion, and the fear of stuttering through my speech. I thought of all of these things, but still could not think how any of those first times relate to a first snow.

“Yes!” I almost screamed out loud, “seeing snow for the first time is like the first time hearing pop music.” The awe of hearing these new sounds, so different and original. Then, as the snow becomes mundane and dirty, so does the music. The whiteness becomes tarnished and blends in with the environment as does the music, It all starts to sound the same, and the monotony destroys the inspiration. Then, class was over.