Stop Summering When You Should Be Wintering

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Estimated time to read:

2–3 minutes

As I write this on January 10, we are a mere 20 days into the offi­cial sea­son of win­ter­ing. Wintering is a fal­low sea­son in our lives, a time to recon­nect with our inner nature and tap into our cre­ative depths. A time to rest and restore.

But our world beck­ons, loud­ly and insis­tent­ly. Our cap­i­tal­ist soci­ety forces us to sum­mer all year long, even though that goes against our deep­est and truest nature. Our world glo­ries con­stant per­for­mance and cease­less pro­duc­tiv­i­ty, result­ing in unprece­dent­ed cas­es of burnout and exhaustion. 

We are assault­ed dai­ly by pres­sure to final­ly be the bright­est, shini­est, best ver­sions of our­selves. Too many peo­ple buy into the lie of new year, new you res­o­lu­tions, on a restric­tive diet, cleanse, or reset. Firstly, we shouldn’t be set­ting inten­tions in the mid­dle of win­ter, when it’s dark and cold. Intention set­ting – growth – hap­pens nat­u­ral­ly at the Vernal Equinox (I’ll write more about the insane rea­son our Gregorian cal­en­dar des­ig­nates January 1 as the year’s start in March). 

I’m remind­ed of the famous quote by Albert Camus; “In the midst of win­ter, I found there was, with­in me, an invin­ci­ble sum­mer.” He was talk­ing more about a sense of inner strength, but it seems our world cham­pi­ons the idea of invin­ci­ble sum­mer. In being “on” all the time, we deny our­selves prop­er win­ter­ing. Retreat, reflec­tion, and recu­per­a­tion feels like an act of rebellion. 

Yet it’s what our souls call for. No one must teach or force plants or ani­mals to win­ter. Bears gorge, then hiber­nate. Squirrels gath­er and pro­tect nour­ish­ment for the long, dark days. Birds shel­ter in place, wait­ing for the inter­nal call of migra­tion. Tulip bulbs con­serve heat and ener­gy so that they can, in time, burst forth in bloom.

How many peo­ple did you know who were sick at the hol­i­days with Covid, RSV, Flu, or some ran­dom upper res­pi­ra­to­ry infec­tion? It’s not only because we’re indoors more often and in clos­er con­tact with oth­ers that con­ta­gious ill­ness­es spread so quick­ly. It’s also due to some­thing called the Let Down Effect, which occurs when the body final­ly slows after mov­ing at top speed. It’s why peo­ple get sick on vaca­tion or dur­ing hol­i­day breaks and it’s a bio­log­i­cal­ly recent phe­nom­e­non, because only very mod­ern humans have decid­ed they don’t need to charge their own batteries. 

What I’m say­ing is this. If you feel tired and unmo­ti­vat­ed right now, you’re not lazy. This is not your time to rise. This is your time to sink. Into the earth, into your couch, into a bowl of hot soup, into your hopes and dreams and long­ings. No mat­ter how hard we try to deny it, we are nature, made of the same ele­ments as the stars. Our bones like coral reefs, our blood sali­nat­ed like the tur­bu­lent ocean water, our every breath in con­cert with the forests.

We’re bio­log­i­cal­ly designed to have less ener­gy this time of year. Stop forc­ing your­self into an invin­ci­ble sum­mer and lis­ten to the call of your heart. 

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