I grew up in Minnesota and, don’t get me wrong, I loved it. The schools I attended were great, the people I’ve met are even better, and the city I grew up in was just the right size. I have always felt safe and I was never further than fifteen minutes from my entire family.

In the winter, I was a competitive figure skater, a downhill skier, a snow angel maker, and an avid hot chocolate drinker. In the summer, I was a lake bum, only leaving the dock to fetch myself more tanning oil. I learned how to slolem ski, how to wake surf, how to hold on to a tube for dear life, and I enjoyed many a popsicle while catching fish from the dock with my uncle. I love Minnesota with my whole heart and I wouldn’t trade my childhood with anyone. So I don’t mean to sound ungrateful when I say I’m ready for a change.

I’m ready to escape the frigid cold of the north. To say it sucks when I step outside and feel my nose freeze, not letting any air through, would be an understatement. My lungs try to inflate but have no room to grow. My eyelashes are icicles, sticking together like a tongue to a frozen metal pole. Those five or so months of freezing darkness are tiresome. And I'm tired. I’m tired of the miserable chill of January—the chill that sticks around, not leaving my body until the later days of April. So again, I’m ready.

I’m ready for endless summers, blue skies, and sunshine—sunshine that seeps into my skin and settles deep into my bones, shooing away even the memory of goosebumps. I’m ready for shorts and sandals and tank tops. I’m ready to shed my many layers in exchange for that sun-kissed glow.

So next year, when all of my fellow Minnesotans are bundling up for the frigid winter months, maybe throwing on an extra pair of socks or opening up a fresh pack of hand-warmers, I’ll be throwing on my shorts and flip flops and heading outside. And it's totally okay to be jealous.