I wake up before the sun, start the coffee, turn on a small light, and sit to journal my morning pages. My couch sits under the front window, so every morning when I do this, the sun rises slowly behind me. After I get up to refill my coffee, I notice the room is brighter than expected. I’m delighted to see the morning sun is reflecting off of the tiniest bit of snow dustings across my front yard and the street beyond.
I love my slow mornings. I love my quiet house. I love my alone time. I love the sacredness of my space and the control over my schedule and the monitoring of who or what have access to me. I even love the cold weather, the slight stinging of cheeks when I take a midday walk.
I love all these things year-round—it’s one of the gifts of working for myself—but now in the deepest part of winter I treasure them even more.
When people ask why I moved to Pennsylvania, I tell them I needed the cold. I grew up in sunny states—Southern California and Phoenix plus another six years in Texas. I was almost forty before I really understood planning my life around inclement weather. It wasn’t until late 2021 that I ever lived somewhere that it snows. Somewhere with less than twelve hours of sunlight each day. Somewhere I actually had to grab my heavy coat when I left the house. In Arizona, we had a version of “hibernation” that just meant staying indoors where the air conditioning protected you; here in Pennsylvania, my hibernation feels much more attuned to the rhythms of the natural world.
The longer I live here—this is my third winter in the north—the more I understand the traditions and metamorphoses of the seasons. I notice changes that were never really apparent in my Los Angeles suburb. For example, my Neighbor Dad has been bringing up my emptied trash barrels from the curb the last few weeks, and even though he hasn’t said anything directly, I suspect it is a kind gesture from him to allow me to stay inside my warm brick home. I notice my body getting sleepier in December, not because I’m working too hard but because rest is what everything does in the winter.
Wintering by Katherine May* was one of my favorite reads of the last few years, and her Substack (The Clearing) explores many of the same themes. American culture as a whole tends to be focused on the hustle, the pushing, the bleeding edge of capitalism—harder, better, faster, stronger. In the last few years we’ve seen a rebellion against that (here*, here*, here*, here*, and dozens of social media accounts to begin with), and it has been so refreshing. I don’t want to run a business that has to get bigger every year. I don’t want to feel guilty for spending all afternoon reading.
I want the space to listen to my body when it tells me to slow down, and never do I feel that pull to rest more than in winter in Pennsylvania.
From Katherine May:
“When the darkest part of the year arrives, we start craving our bed at what seems like a ridiculously early hour, often feeling ashamed and guilty for our dozing and yawning. But it’s only clock time that’s telling us our instincts are wrong; our bodies are continuing a pattern we’ve followed for millennia.”
For the last several years, I have been vocal about wanting to take all of December off. Or, rather, from the Monday before Thanksgiving through New Years off. For the last several years I have been pushing myself, living in survival mode, desperate to get out from under debt and meeting increasingly difficult work deadlines. After eleven months of that, I limp into the last month of the year just trying to make sure nothing else falls through the cracks. I’ve taken last minute editing work that ate up my entire month because I could not say no to the money.
This year, however, I reached the end of November realizing that I did actually have a buffer of a few weeks that I could completely take off work the way I have always said I wanted to. I set aside the book I had been writing and followed my interests. I started a (focused, intellectualized) rewatch of one of my favorite shows. I day dreamed. I ignored word count goals
Faced with the very real opportunity, however, I realized that my version of hibernation cannot just be resting. I love sleep, yes, but I also love to feel productive. Even if it’s just a couple loads of laundry or a rough outline for a short story. In fact, most of December I thought … thinking. Thinking and planning and big picture strategy and reflection. And even if it did not look like work to the outside, it sure felt like it.
It’s … puttering, really. A little project here, a little project there. Putting together this page of my books on a cold Friday morning. Decluttering my desk. Brain-dumping all the house projects to focus on in the coming months.
Winter is calling me to hibernate. But for me that still means a very active mind.
I have plenty of ways to entertain myself, but that’s not how I want to spend my dark, cold months. As much as I love the idea of being indulgent and impulsive, of going with the flow and curling up with a novel for days on end… That is simply not who I am. I never will be. I’ve tried often enough to know that my mental health (and in some ways physical comfort) is affected negatively if I don’t do something that I can point to as an accomplishment.
I suspect it may take me years to feel like I have learned this lesson. I apologize in advance if I write a similar post a year from now. The changes of the seasons are slow enough and subtle enough that by the time I feel as though I have noticed them thoroughly, they’re already over.
For this year, at least, I’m grateful for my warm home, my throw blankets and lap cats, my flexible schedule and space to listen to my body when it says to rest and think. I’m grateful for this platform where I can publish my not-strictly-to-market-books thoughts. I’m grateful to have the time to nap if I choose to and the energy to research twentieth century pop art if I choose to.
The days are getting longer now. Soon I’ll be able to put away my wool peacoat. I’ll feel more energy to paint the living room. But in the meantime, I’m letting myself hibernate.
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I have that same feeling of never being 100% able to just sit and veg. Even if it's not considered "work", a house project or craft project, organizing, writing or exploring. I have a hard time turning off my brain. I always feel the need to be productive somehow. I'm also thankful for a flexible schedule that I can steer in whatever direction I want. You're a much better goal-setter and I love that you have a chance to hibernate this year.
Wow, I see so much of my cyclical energy patterns in your descriptions, especially the love of cozy hibernation season with a dash of productivity, even if that just means a small creative project that may not take long at all (or a different creative practice for a while like collaging or journaling or drawing). I have that Achiever in my DNA as well, but also a real need to make my own schedule and follow my interests. It’s so nice to read about other people’s experiences that so validate certain aspects of my atypical life. 🙏