When you grow up in suburban Chicago, you know what it means to suffer through winter. I’m talking bone-chilling cold, wicked ice storms, wind-whipped skin, days-long power outages and blizzards that dump feet of snow. All those stories our grandparents used to tell about walking to and from school, uphill, both ways, against the wind? Yeah, that was true for me too. Plus, I was a member of my high school’s pom-pom team so I also spent entire football games trying desperately to inspire spirit while my knees turned a startling shade of blue.

Halfway through high school, my parents split up and we moved down to South Florida. I’m a bit ashamed to admit this, but I was one of those mean bastards who would call or write my friends back “home” in the middle of February and brag about going to the beach after classes ended. It was just such a novelty not to suffer through winter anymore — and I reveled in it.

Of course, there was a cost to be paid for living in paradise, a condition known as blood-thinning. Basically, your body acclimates to the heat and humidity so much that any amount of cold becomes intolerable. When the temperature would drop below 60 degrees for three days in winter, I would actually search the back of my closet for a sweater.

A decade later, I landed a dream job at The New York Times and moved to New York City — in February. That was when the curse of blood-thinning made me rue. Although I had purchased an old winter coat from Goodwill before I left Florida, it was no match for the wind that blew cruelly through the buildings in Manhattan. Every trek from the subway to the newsroom felt like a death march; I spent much of it with my head down, willing my frozen feet forward, and swearing profusely.

It would take a full year for the curse to pass and my body to adjust to the cold. Once it did, however, the profanity stopped. The cooler temps became a delightful antidote to my heat-induced migraines and whenever the first snowflakes would fall, my spirit soared. (Didn’t hurt that the first snow storm each year usually occurred between Thanksgiving and Christmas, making the city’s holiday decorations look even more festive and beautiful.)

Now, I’m a winter-convert. I crave the sound of snow plows grinding through feet of fluff and the hush that settles on the world after they pass by. I adore wearing layers of clothing and thick wool socks, drinking hot tea and cocoa, curling up in my library with a good book or in the living room by the fire, cooking comfort food and baking delicious treats for friends and family.

That said, I wish this video had been around 19 years ago when I moved from Florida to New York. Even though I remembered most of the “tips” from my childhood, I’m sure it would’ve made my life a little more tolerable: