On Seasons

The comfort in the constant of change.

Winter. Central Texas, January 2023.

For a very long time, I hated fall and winter. Winter meant cold, and I hate being cold, and I hate driving home in the dark. The idea of having to wear shoes what cover my feet fully makes me cringe. I refuse to wear two pairs of pants at the same time (which doesn’t help the issue of being cold). Fall meant winter was coming. All of this meant I didn’t balk at the fact that the only two graduate programs in my area of study were in Arizona and Texas; all the better to have the seasons of “summer” and “basically summer.” I held onto spring as the harbinger of all that was good because it signaled the end of the fall/winter sadness time. I was anti-half the year. 

Wildflowers in the Spring. Central Texas, April 2023.

And then I realized that being anti-half the year was probably not the best way to be. The autumn that I lived in the DC area, I made it my mission to learn to love, or at least tolerate, fall. I did all the fall things - learned to make soup that I like (despite considering any food you didn’t have to chew not really food), drank a lot of apple cider, went to a pumpkin patch, and thrifted mid-weight clothes to bridge the gap between skirts and puffy vests. I went for walks in the morning and looked specifically at the changing leaves.

It worked. That was the turning point of me not dreading fall, and eventually, welcoming it, even looking forward to it. Winter was another story; I spent one winter in Minneapolis, and, while I survived it, I couldn’t shake the feeling of driving on sheets of ice or the weight of carrying literal bags for the clothes I took off from over my other clothes when I got to work. The 2021 winter storm in central Texas didn’t help; just below the surface of my performative disdain for winter was a real fear of a real threat: frozen pipes and questionable insulation and an unstable power grid are no joke.

An autumn fire-by-choice, rather than by necessity. Cape Cod, Massachusetts. October 2023.

As we moved toward winter at the end of 2021, I was a nervous wreck. A voice in my head whispered the same question over and over again: “What if it happens again? What if it’s worse?” Around the same time, I started my 300-hour yoga teacher training program, and took a winter wellness workshop sometime near the solstice. This workshop focused on the qualities of the winter season, why, like biologically, we turn inwards and feel more reflective during the winter (which is obvious once you know it, but was far from my modern consciousness), and practices to support yourself with different kinds of rest during winter. 

I’ve always been a new year’s resolution-setter and end-of-year reflector (more on that next week), but gaining an understanding why this time of year felt introspective (in addition to our human-imposed deadline of the end of a calendar year) helped me soften my feelings toward winter. Living in an area where other seasons are more intense than winter helped, too; after what feels like an interminable summer and an unpredictable autumn, there’s something nice about knowing that, eventually, temperatures will cool and days will shorten and there will be a natural impetus to take a breath, slow down, and make some space from the frenetic pace of the season/year/semester. Like I was able to do more than 10 years ago, I’ve finally been able to welcome winter, appreciate its offerings, and even look forward to it just a little bit.

The most helpful thing about a Texas winter is that it isn’t socked in like a midwestern one; about every three weeks or so, there’s a warm-ish day, one with enough sun to remind me that it won’t be cold and dreary forever. Parallel days of cooler respite don’t come in the summer here; they’re reserved for winter, to remind us that there will be light and warmth again. 

Summer Light in the Land Where It’s Light Until 10:30pm. Anterim Coast, Northern Ireland, June 2023.

I think that seasons in general are comforting for the very reason that they change. Too much of the same weather for too much time is disconcerting, bringing a sense that nothing will ever change. In times of challenge, this is a dangerous and disheartening prospect. Even a good thing extended can drive me into foreboding joy, where I worry about the good thing ending.

Change of the seasons grounds me in the reality that everything is changing all the time, and that I have skills to navigate changes. The shifting seasons also remind me that everyone is undergoing changes all the time that outside observers aren’t always privy to. The seasonal adjustments and my reactions to them remind me to show up with as much compassion and extend as much grace as possible because, truly, we don’t know what changes others might be weathering or what external changes might prompt for their inner landscapes. 

I’m grateful that there were practices and rituals that have helped guide me to embracing the natural reality of more of the year. I’m also grateful for our ability to change our attitudes and deeply entrenched ideas and ingrained habits. I’m also taking great comfort in the seismic shifts of others. Several friends have made significant career shifts in the past few years and found new or long-buried parts of themselves or their lives. Acquaintances are moving through unfathomable tragedy with a sense of grace and kindness that seems impossible. I went on SoundCloud to listen annually to my favorite telling of the Christmas story*, did some Googling to see if the musician, who I met in North Carolina, had any upcoming events, and discovered that she is running for state senate. I didn’t see that coming, but I find it oddly comforting that she, at the age of however old she is that is older than me, is taking risks and following a calling that looks different from the one that’s defined her career. All of this courage in the face of change helps me access my own resolve to explore what’s right for my own path, however far that may veer from the current iteration. 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on winter, seasonal rituals, or significant shifting. In the meantime, I hope you find some space to slow down, to take stock internally, and to practice whatever rituals feel nourishing and supportive during this time of darkness that gives way to the light. If that feels strange, here are a few ideas that aren’t too far out there. 

Input/Output

I’m still in baby blanket land, primarily; once I have the current ones finished and given to their recipients, I’ll add pictures. 

My work secret Santa nailed it; she gave me this adorable crochet kit. It will furnish my first foray into not-flat projects. Cows, fruit, and cutesy things…what is there not to love? 

Balance

I’m excited to offer a winter solstice workshop this Thursday to honor the longest night of the year. You can sign up here. 

Whether you can attend or not, I’ve put together this playlist for the evening or for use in whatever way works for you, a tiny holiday gift!

If you know someone you think would be interested in this newsletter or free yoga class, I hope you’ll send this their way!

*As someone raised in a Christian tradition but with little to no formal religious education and even more eclectic beliefs, it is weird even to me that I have a favorite version of this story, but I do, and I’m experimenting with what it is to own that. Apparently not experimenting enough to own it without a caveat, but baby steps…