Untethered + Wintering

Photo credit: Daniel Buron

This time last year, I had my whole year planned out. On the calendar, I was working two retreats and had breathwork groups scheduled on the 2nd and 4th Friday of every month at two of my favorite yoga studios plus was planning to add in a couple extra Breathwork for Grief sessions at Tall Reeds Healing Arts where I was also doing 1:1 sessions.

Well, we all know how the year unraveled from there come March.

As we rolled into the new year THIS year, I had a blank slate before me. Without the usual suspects on my schedule as a foundation for my work, what was I going to do? What did I want to create?

I entered January feeling untethered.

Without the regular touchstones of what I worked hard to build over the years, I felt like I was floating out in space.

Of course, I could continue to do exactly what I have done, just do it online. But there was something about the fresh calendar with no limitations, expectations, obligations that made me hesitate before starting the process of filling up the days.

And what I found while I was untethered was this urge to do some wintering.

Partly inspired by the book Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May and partly inspired by being a human in a pandemic in winter (a phrase I heard from fellow breathwork practitioner and friend Aimee Derbes) .

The changes that take place in winter are a kind of alchemy, an enchantment performed by ordinary creatures to survive.
~Katherine May

I realized I relished the quiet space to listen to my intuition.
I enjoyed the deep cold and snow covered world of dog park mornings in the dawn light.
I delighted in having slower and shorter days.

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.
~Katherine May

I’ve been gobbling up some fiction novels after a year of non-fiction books for book club.
I’ve been living in sweatshirts, sweatpants, and always two pairs of socks.
I’ve been partaking in all the winter play activities with my mom and my brother: tubing, skating, snowshoeing.
I’ve been cooking stews and chilis.
I’ve been creating a regular sweat session routine in the basement followed by hot showers, at-home manicures, and tea.
I’ve been watching movies and feel-good-shows with my husband.
I’ve been lighting all the candles, salt lamps, and twinkle lights at dusk.

I wonder if I’ve ever truly known how to embrace winter before now??

In our relentlessly busy contemporary world, we are forever trying to defer the onset of winter. We don’t ever dare to feel its full bite, and we don’t dare to show the way that it ravages us. An occasional sharp wintering would do us good. We must stop believing these times in our lives are somehow silly, a failure of nerve, a lack of willpower. We must stop trying to dispose of them. They are real, and they are asking something of us. We must learn to invite winter in. We may never choose to winter, but we can choose HOW.
~Katherine May

And I know we go through winter seasons that aren’t always cozy and comfortable.

Sometimes our wintering is a period of grieving a loved one or a time when we are dealing with illness, depression, disappointment, loneliness.

I know that a more challenging wintering will arrive for me as I have people and fur babies that I love and we don’t live forever.

And so I’m practicing my wintering for when a harsh and heartbreaking one arrives, I’ll hopefully lean into it and not resist it as much if I hadn’t given it a try once before.

So my wish for you (which I posted on the socials for the new moon but is just as relevant for this coming full moon): the chance to pause, to breathe, to rest, to dream, to retreat. For you to remember that you are worthy of slowing down.

PS: and in case you’re feeling the urge to do a little wintering yourself, join me for breathwork this Thursday (or in the recording on your own time) as we use our breath to sink into stillness. The signs of spring are s l o w l y starting to beckon, so let’s set aside some time to slow down together and sink into this winter nest before the next growing season.