Wintering

On embracing the season for what it is

This is the time of year when everything starts to feel a bit ragged. It’s a race to the end of December & the deadlines awaiting us there, and a struggle to survive the dark, cold days and nights of Winter in the Northern Hemisphere. (If you’re enjoying the sunshine in the Southern Hemisphere right now, my best wishes to you! Not jealous at all 😉)

A few years ago, I read

Katherine May

’s wonderful book ‘Wintering’ which completely reframed how I view the season. I first discovered it during this Covid-era conversation with Krista Tippett. I listened on a frosty walk and bought the book to have something to look forward to the following October. It’s a lovely book - a gentle ramble through the harshest months of the year, blending memoir, advice, nature-writing and spirituality. There are a few chapters for each month between October and March, though of course I read them all at once! 

The book is about winter as a season, but also our own personal “winters”. The times when life feels bleak, painful and lonely. It’s a book about finding “the most comfortable way to live through [these seasons]”. It’s not about either denying or enduring the pain, but about “active acceptance”.

“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximizing scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but it crucible.”

The author travels to Scandinavia to learn from people who winter well. In Iceland, she marvels at “all the life that exists in the deepest cold”. In Norway, she tries to “absorb the connection between beauty and hardiness that exists in this freezing place”. She writes about animals and their “careful preparations..to endure the cold, foodless months”. She tries sea-swimming. She writes about rest, surrender, melancholy and the wisdom that exists in winter. 

I’ve always enjoyed winter. I revel in the weak, watery light; the crisp days; the creeping darkness. As an introvert, I love to spend the colder months cocooned at home. As soon as the clocks go back, I feel my body’s rhythms start to slow. It gets harder to convince myself to leave the house. All I want to do is wear comfortable clothes and enjoy being cozy and warm at home. 

I have endured some horrible winters - both the season and devastating personal winters. One year, freezing weather knocked out both the heating and the internet for ten days. It was miserable. I travelled to friends' homes for showers and wifi. For two icy winters, I got up at 6am to commute 2.5 hours across the city. Though I equipped myself well with a warm coat, sturdy boots and noise cancelling headphones, it was still a gruelling few months. 

The Covid winters were desperately lonely. I lived alone then and endured many, many days of isolation. I’ll never forget those dark January days and the pang of despair I felt every evening when I checked the number of Covid deaths. I desperately wanted to see friends for a walk, but it rained every weekend. When eventually we did meet, it snowed as we drank our flasks of tea and nibbled homemade cake.

But, we made it through. Every winter has ended. Spring has always come. 

Zero degress but sunny

“This is not a book about beauty, but about reality” writes Katherine May. Often what we need to get through the tough seasons of life is not platitudes, but practical advice. Every year, around this time, I get myself organised to get through the season. 

• I dust off the slow cooker and stock up on tins of things that can be simmered into deliciousness while I’m glued to my desk. I bake. I enjoy the feeling of flour between my palms. 

• I look at the pile of half-finished books I’ve accumulated through the year and make a plan to finish the ones I enjoyed. In my fantasy life, I’d lean more toward poetry in the winter months. But in my actual life, I binge watch Netflix and fall asleep on the couch.

• I drink a half dozen cups of tea a day, and live in my Oodie.¹

• I make care packages to send to pals around the world. 

• I aim to get out of the house every morning - even if it’s just for 10 minutes. Nothing fancy. Nothing that requires planning or special equipment. I just put on my shoes and go. I thought about doing 30 days of yoga, but decided against it. The last thing I need is another obligation.

• I review my goals for the year and decide what I want to work toward in the final months of the year, and what can be dropped or deferred.

I remember that winter will pass. Both the season and our personal winters. Soon, Spring will be here again.

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