Well, I broke my driving record this week: six states and more than a thousand miles of snowy, blowy switchbacks, interstate bridges, suburban strips, one-way city streets, roaring turnpikes, and minor state highways that were all named Route 9. I feel proud. I went to places I'd never been before, I did all the driving by myself, and I did not succumb to panic. I was fortunate to have a navigator who understood how to make the Google Maps app work on my phone, had a knack for tracking down bearable radio stations, and was good at making jokes about squirrels.

Now I am home, and there's another foot of snow on the ground and one of my bedroom windows seems to be leaking. But I refuse to be daunted. No matter what, I intend to be glad to be here.