A winter invitation

In winter, the world gets dark; she sleeps, and she invites us to do the same. Get to safety, she says. Untense your shoulders, unclench your jaw, surround yourself with the pack. Sleep.

“But,” we say! We have it all figured out! There is no time to slow down! I finally have time off work; I have to do this project… I have to see so-and-so… I have to buy such-and-such; Holiday party! Resolutions! Side hustle! Oh my!

So, we ignore the invitation. We put sign posts up; we invent new goals. We curse ourselves into productivity: our brains buzz until we burn out. We’ve tried to bend winter to our collective will instead of succumbing to its peace. Its beauty. Its wisdom.

Winter isn’t asking for next year’s goals (what is a year but an arbitrary timestamp made up for profit anyway?) Winter isn’t pushing you to do more, be more, buy more.

Winter invites us to slow down;

Winter invites us to rest.

With rest, comes reflection.

With reflection comes intention.

With intention comes purpose.

With purpose, we take action.

Without the pause, we’re just running a fast loop chasing what?

Photo by Adam Pluchrat on Unsplash

I wrote the following collection of words last year—or maybe it was the year before? I felt trapped in the hustle; I couldn’t rest. It’s a reality so many of us experience—time, rest, these facets of our very survival have become luxuries. Let’s reclaim them.

Winter Hustle

So much is written on the glory of winter—in a snowy wood or frozen banks
But nobody talks about the sounds of winter in the city:
the same car has been backfiring at the streetlight on the corner since March
of last year
In winter, the kids yell less—huddled together to keep warm as they walk home from school
A bird calls, but I don’t know what kind it is. It’s on one of the rooftops nearby
At Christmas, the neighbor's house rings with laughter: jokes in a language I can’t understand. In empty rooms, I envy that closeness

In the city, slow winters are gated behind million dollar mansions; all we see are skinny sidewalks and large freeways:
Rush hour traffic never changes despite the cold. 

We work to make money. We make money to live, but we can’t afford it, so we work more. 

Our tired bones are here—on a busy street where neighbors are strangers and no one owns anything; not even the ground we’re told to keep clean. 

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If you have the space for it, I’d love for you to meet me in the comments today.

Prompt:

Find five words that describe where you find yourself today, in this winter moment.

Reflect:

Would you change any words? You can. Take this opportunity to slow down. Which words represent what you’d like to call in for yourself this winter? Choose as many as you’d like.

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