There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature – the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter
– Rachel Carson
Winter is the loneliest season.
The bustle of the holidays seems like a distant memory. The house is empty of decorations, and gifts have found a home. Life has once again settled into a routine as we hunker down and wait for warmer weather.
Winter, especially February, is a weird in-between. There’s little to look forward to (except maybe Valentine’s Day if that’s your jam). It’s cold and gray, no longer Christmas and not quite spring. The days are lazy and slow as if time has expanded.
The daylight is short, and the nights are long. The sun arrives late, and the warm bed urges me to pull the covers up and snooze a little longer. Winter daylight is softer, sometimes leaving me in a haze, not unlike the haze we find ourselves in during transition. It’s not altogether day but also not fully night; it’s as if we have not yet arrived. Before long, the evening closes in, driving me inside the house to fuzzy socks, cups of tea, and Netflix binges.
Cold + Dark
Each winter, I mentally return to an apartment I lived in briefly during my 20s. Uncreatively, it’s referred to as “the cold and dark apartment.” Primely situated in my hometown’s quaint downtown, the 1900s house had been converted into four apartments. The location was a large part of its appeal: that, and the wide front porch.
The cold and dark apartment boasted wood floors, dark wood trim, white walls, and high ceilings. It was long and skinny, with windows on only one side. There weren’t many places for the light to shine in. What little squeaked through was swallowed up in the dark wood or lost under the roof of the porch.
As if a lack of light wasn’t enough, I was also unable to control my heat (hence cold and dark). Set perpetually on 68*F, I’m sure it was 68 somewhere near the ceiling. But 12 feet down where I was living, it felt like barely 60 – sometimes less. In desperate times, I took to hanging bags of ice near the thermostat, hoping to trick the heat into working just a bit harder. Rarely, if ever, did it fall for my ruse.
There wasn’t much space for entertaining (read: my fridge was in my dining room). So, most of that year and especially that winter, I was alone. Cold and dark. But it was there I became intimately acquainted with the work of winter.
Warmth + Light
Too often, we get stuck in the cold and dark of winter. We forget that part of the joy of the season is warmth and light, both in our external environment and in ourselves. Winter brings with it fuzzy socks and heavy blankets. After an afternoon in the snow, we’re called inside to cups of hot chocolate.
Winter offers us permission to slow down, light a candle, and be still.
We have the space and time to get comfortable. Even our dog Fred is in search of cozy. His favorite spot is on the back of the couch, under a blanket, watching the world through the window.
I did a lot of work on myself during the year of the “cold and dark apartment.” I read a book a week, and I drank a lot of tea. Rekindling a habit I lost after college, I journaled and read scripture daily. Keeping warm was easier in the kitchen, so I learned to cook, baking bread in a space I could barely turn around in (and that is still one of the best kitchens I’ve ever had).
I became comfortable with being alone, but I also learned to better articulate myself. The introspection of that season helped me give voice to so many of my thoughts. Winter gave me some time to get clear about who I was and what I wanted.
These days, the winter season cleanses me, resets me, and gives me space. I associate winter with a time to hunker down and work on myself. The best things require work, and for me, the best work happens in the winter.
Even the darker days are a blessing – it isn’t until I’m in the dark that I can grow. Without the dark, I can’t fully appreciate the light.
The Work of Winter
Winter is giving her permission to slow down, take time, breathe. My plants arch toward the light, soaking up whatever traces are offered. Even with fewer hours of sunlight, my plants are still growing. One even looked outright dead. But a few weeks ago, I noticed new growth pushing through the soil. Out of the darkness and into the light. Winter hasn’t stopped them, but it has slowed them down. Although they need more time to muster up the energy, they are still moving forward.
Winter seasons can look different for each of us. Maybe you’re dealing with a deployment or long separation. Perhaps you’re in transition. Whatever your winter looks like, take heart. Maybe you’re being called to slow down, invest in yourself, and do the hard work of growing. It may not be easy, but it will be worth it.
Until next time,
