Right now, a large portion of the country is complaining about shoveling snow. Most likely, the amount of complaining you do will not in any way lessen the amount of shoveling you have to do, so I would like to suggest that you reframe shoveling and instead look at it as a meditative practice.
The best kind of snow for shoveling is the light and fluffy kind. If your snow is not the light and fluffy kind, let’s just pretend that it is, and take smaller scoops.
Now, let’s say that it’s evening, and the snow is gently falling. The air smells crisp and clean, and flakes swirl gently around you as they float to the ground. The sounds of the world are muffled; it is only you, and nature, and your shovel. Stretched out before you, you view the soft, white expanse of your driveway (or sidewalk or whatever you’re shoveling). Imagine it is a blank canvas, and with your shovel, you are about to color it the color of blacktop, paving stones, concrete or grass. You set your shovel edge to the ground and scoop the powdery fluff, bending at the knees when you lift your burden... putting your whole body into it. In one smooth motion, the shovel swings back, you turn to the side, and then the shovel swings forward, launching the snow to the pile on on your side.
You repeat this shovel-dance, again and again, advancing across the space, painting the formerly white area with pavement, grass, or dirt. Your muscles stretch, then warm. Your mind clears. The cold flakes flutter across your lashes. Puffs of your breath hover around your face at regular intervals. Your whole body works in unison toward a common goal. How can you not call this meditative? Especially since, when you’ve completed your task and you admire your handwork, you feel a certain... peaceful satisfaction at a job well done. You return your shovel to its place, stomp off your boots and step back inside.
Enjoy the snow.
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