Shovel Therapy

Scrape, throw; scrape, throw; scrape, throw. My heart thumps heavily in my chest and my lungs find a steady rhythm – pulling the cold, fresh air deeply into my chest and sending the steamy exhale back out. These rhythms come into a sweet harmony with the strokes of my arms as they dispatch one shovel-full of snow after the other from the cold concrete of the driveway.

In short order, the heat is building nicely inside my jacket, and the steam rises from my head. Though the temperature hovers around zero, both my body and soul are saturated in a zone of warm satisfaction as the concrete is steadily stripped of the layer of snow that covers it.

Shoveling anything is satisfying to me, but snow is a particular pleasure. Especially when it’s fresh snow with a consistent weight and consistency – before it’s been walked in or driven on. It lends itself to the mindless rhythm of shoulders, back, legs, lungs and heart as the shovel sweeps in a steady motion. The cold air is a bonus, as it allows high work output without overheating.

Like bicycling, shoveling snow has a sweet combination of qualities that allows the body to fall into a holistic rhythm of work. It’s almost like a drug to me, and I suppose there’s something to be said for the endorphins that are probably released during high work output. Perhaps there’s some physiological reason for the magic, but it’s magic nonetheless.

This morning, there’s less snow than was forecast. The dry ground of the high prairie needs the snow this year. Beyond the joy of shoveling, it feels good to see the moisture coming down. I enjoy the peace of the quiet blanket of white in the early light.

Simple joy. Deep joy.

We’ve built a complex world of broadband, fiber, blogging and email. We keep ourselves wrapped tightly in our cocoon of warm isolation from the world around us, while sharing a high level of intimate information with all the friends, family, and complete strangers who happen to read our Facebook page updates.

We shop a lot – our entire economy now revolves not around making and building things of value, but instead around filling shopping carts full of “stuff” – most of which we have no real need for. Buying “stuff” is not only the center of our economy, but seems also to be the place we’re searching for some sense of satisfaction. Doesn’t it seem, sometimes, that filling our shopping carts is our misguided attempt to fill the gaps of joy and meaning in our life?

But we still feel that gaps. We’re still searching for the meaning. We still long for the joy.

Simple joy. Deep joy.

These gaps aren’t always foremost in our minds, but I think they drive our behavior more than we’d like to admit.

When for most of us, many gaps are easily filled by pretty simple things in our life. They’re usually things we don’t have to reach very far to find, and they’re often things we spend a great deal of time hiding from.

Like hard work. Simple hard work with a steady, mindless rhythm to it. Work that keeps the heart pounding and the sweat pouring. Work that makes the muscles burn now and again. Work that lets the mind wander in peace.

Later in the morning, I sit in my office, and I feel good. The warm satisfaction from a little shovel work is still wrapped around me, and the sunlight is occasionally exploding across the snow-covered landscape outside. I watch as some folks struggle with their snowblower, finally getting it started, turning their head away from the exhaust blowing in their face, putting in earplugs to mute the scream of the motor.

I shift my gaze back to my front porch. There – leaning up against a rail – is my trusty snow shovel. I’m pretty sure the machine doesn’t save the neighbor any time, and I’m absolutely positive it deprives him of the joy to be found on the end of a shovel.

I don’t think I need to go shopping for anything today.

I hope is snows again tonight.

Author: Neil Hanson

Neil administers this site and manages content. View all posts by Neil Hanson