The First Snow and the Things We Do for the First Time

By Colin Beharie

The first snow of the season came to Sandnes this morning, and I found myself asking a very ordinary question. How do you defrost the back window of a Tesla Model 3?

After all these years in Norway, I’m used to snow. I just hadn’t learned where that button was. And there I was, looking for it, when I could have taken a second to enjoy the first snowfall. It got me thinking about how often we’re so busy figuring out what to do in a new situation that we barely notice how it feels to be there.

Remember your first kiss? What did you feel just before it happened? Maybe you’d been hoping for it all evening, and when the moment came you suddenly wondered what to do with your hands. And afterward? Maybe you smiled all the way home. Maybe it was awkward and you spent the walk home wondering if the other person thought so, too. Years later, you might remember both feelings in the space of a breath.

The first time you stand up to speak in front of a room can feel like that. You’re wondering if anyone can hear the shake in your voice. Then somebody laughs at a line you hoped they’d find funny, and you look up from your notes. For a second, you’re enjoying yourself. Years later, you might forget most of the speech and still remember that second. It might even be part of the reason you say yes the next time someone asks you to speak.

That’s how a first can shape what we do for years. A warm welcome can make it easier to walk into the next room full of strangers. An awkward conversation in a new language can make you reach for English every time you order coffee. If you catch yourself doing that, try the opening sentence again. You can switch to English after that if you need to. You’ll have given yourself another experience to go on.

And some firsts need gentleness. The first Christmas after someone dies, you may get through dinner just fine and then find yourself in tears over a song you’ve heard a hundred times. That might be the moment to call someone who knew the person and say, “I missed them today.”

Think of one thing you keep saying you’ll try someday. A dance class. A few words in a language you’re learning. Reading something you wrote to a room full of people. Give it a go while you’re still curious, even if you’re nervous. And if you catch yourself smiling halfway through, stay with that for a second. That may be the part you remember years from now.

Next time it snows, I’ll know which button to press. I hope I still take a moment to look.

You only get one first time. Be there for it.