Anchorage, Alaska. Known for its harsh winters and 22 hour long nights. My friends in Florida said that if Hell were a place on Earth, it would be Alaska. I loved it. It was my home.

I used to hate the winters in Alaska. I hated the constant darkness. The fact that every time I went outside, I would freeze my ass off. I longed for sunlight, for warmth and energy and life. It was a fundamental human way of thinking. Our bodies weren’t programmed to withstand days without sunlight and negative temperatures. I later learned that Alaska had the highest suicide rate in the country. I didn’t wonder why.

I learned to appreciate Alaskan winters in my freshman year of high school. Earlier that day, as I walked the halls of my school, I noticed things that I had never noticed before. People who were once my closest friends turned into strangers. They made new friends, new personalities, new identities. I wondered if they were happy. I wondered if anyone was. I hoped they were.

I felt depressed that night. I took my jacket and a pack of cigarettes and walked aimlessly in the city, deep in thought. There was nothing else to do in Alaska but think. The perpetual state of darkness seemed to have a dulling effect on everyone. Thinking was soothing though. Sometimes I just needed to take a moment to slow down.

I continued walking without really knowing where I was going. Before I knew it, I ended up in a part of the city I had never been to before. I sat down on a bench, about to call my mom to pick me up when an old man sat down next to me and struck up a conversation. He seemed nice enough. We talked about the weather for a while. I asked him if he liked the weather in Alaska, and he said winter was his favorite season. I didn’t think it was possible.

“When you get to my age,” the old man said. “You’ll look back and say to yourself, ‘Damn I should’ve slowed down.’ The cold and darkness helped me think. I take time to enjoy the little things now. It’s not for most people, though. Sometimes people find themselves in the midst of heat and bustling traffic. That’s not me. I belong here.”

I looked at him for a moment. Unlike him most people, his eyes were full of energy, even in the midst of winter. I decided that he was the smartest person I’d ever met. He enjoyed life. he was someone I wouldn’t forget. I thanked him for his time, and he pointed me to the direction of my home. I felt better. I thought about the winter and of its many friends: snow, spruce trees, and the wind. I realized that the thought of them comforted me. I went home happy, glad that the old man and I had been at the same place at the same time.

As the years went on, the memories of bitter Alaskan winters faded away. They no longer felt tiring or unpleasant. I treated them as an old friend, someone who was always there for me. I walked every day after that night, talking to people and listening to their stories. Every one of them was interesting. We all have different stories, we just need someone to tell them to. I told mine to the wintry winds and cold leaves. I listened to people who didn’t have anyone else. I hope I made them feel better. I really did.