Reminds me of the beginning of A Door Into Summer
While still a kitten, all fluff and buzzes, Pete had worked out a simple philosophy. I was in charge of quarters, rations, and weather; he was in charge of everything else. But he held me especially responsible for weather. Connecticut winters are good only for Christmas cards; regularly that winter Pete would check his own door, refuse to go outside because of that unpleasant white stuff beyond it (he was no fool), then badger me to open a people door.
He had a fixed conviction that at least one of them must lead into summer weather. Each time this meant that I had to go around with him to each of the eleven doors, hold it open while he satisfied himself that it was winter out that way, too, then go on to the next door, while his criticisms of my mismanagement of the weather grew more bitter with each disappointment.
…But he never gave up his search for the Door into Summer.
Maybe some of us have to search for that Door Into Summer. Maybe it doesn't exist. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't matter.