Nice weather we’re having.

No, really. I mean it. Sure, the winter has lasted so long that Punxsutawney Phil might as have well developed a new sign to indicate the direness of the situation. Perhaps he could have dropped dead on the spot after popping his little groundhog head out of the hole. But every cloud—even one that sheds inch after inch of snow, sleet, and freezing rain—has a silver lining.

First off, snow rocks. Ask any eight-year-old with canceled classes. He sees a full day ahead of snow angels, men, and balls. Admittedly, Harvard did better last year in the class-canceling department. But you’ve got breaks between classes, and now that you’ve added at least an additional 10 years to those eight, your sense of creativity has developed to the point of artistic genius. Didn’t you see that Easter Island head in the Yard a few months back? And here I was thinking nothing could top the nine-foot tall snow phallus a few enterprising undergraduates erected in 2003. Word on the street is that there are also some pretty fancy things you can get done in an igloo given the right supplies and motivation.

Okay, I’ll admit it. Too much of anything, glorious snow included, can quickly turn from beneficial to bothersome. But think: It’s common knowledge that you can’t appreciate the good without the bad and the ugly. If everything were always sunshine and puppies, the sun wouldn’t seem nearly so bright nor the puppies so cute. Both would just seem normal. Listen to the wildly popular (at least according to my own “Top 25 Most Played”) “Let Her Go” by Passenger: “You only miss the light when it’s burning low.” Even more topically, you “only miss the sun when it starts to snow.” And boy has it been snowing.

Not only has it been snowing. It has also been cold. So, so cold. The bone chilling air, although seemingly nothing but miserable and frostbite-inducing (seriously, my roommate got frostbite), boasts a number of boons. Who wants to trod forlornly down wet streets after snow has melted? Better to have the Cambridge sidewalks coated with sheets of sleek ice. The slipperiness offers an exercise in coordination. Plus, skating is loads of fun, and you can save a pretty penny parading in public rather than taking the T all the way to the Boston Common’s frog pond. Once you master the art, glide all the way to class—you’ll get there in no time, saving you a few minutes of precious sleep.

What’s more, in single-digit temperatures, Harvard students can don their chicest winter attire—even in the (nominal) spring. Why spend half a grand on a Canada Goose coat if you can only wear it for a few months? And don’t pretend you don’t want to show off those fantastically furry boots for as long as possible. Maybe Janelle Monae will even take advantage of the low degree count to spice up her Yardfest wardrobe. Might I suggest harkening back to Aretha Franklin’s inauguration-stealing headgear?

Speaking of fancy hats, doesn’t the Hound on Game of Thrones put fashion week models to shame? Because winter in at the Wall strikes even the staunchest Stark and lowers the lordliest Lannister. So when you trek from Pfoho to Mather, tell yourself you’ve journeyed from the Winterfell to Riverrun to add some adventure to the monotony of a far-from-mild March. If you don’t care for new-fangled television fads, cast your mind back to your childhood and enter the wondrous world you first encountered reading “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” The weather wasn’t so hot there either, pun absolutely intended. Better yet, play Elsa in Disney’s “Frozen” and belt out “Let It Go” until you’re really convinced that the cold never bothered you anyway. (“Let It Go” is different than “Let Her Go.” Both make me cry.) Pretend you’re in Westeros, in Narnia, or in Arendelle.

Or anywhere. Anywhere but here. Please, God, anywhere but here.

Molly L. Roberts ’16, a Crimson editorial executive, is an English concentrator in Cabot House. Her column runs on alternate Fridays. Follow her on Twitter @mollylroberts.