The Art of Wintering; with My Grandparents’ 1950s Living Room

Hey you,

How are you doing on this Monday morning?

I know Mondays usually come with a certain expectation to be "on" and moving fast, but if you’re anything like me, you might be feeling a softness in your pace instead. I wanted to check in and tell you: I know it isn’t something to fix; it’s simply part of Wintering.

I was reminded of this the other day while looking out the window. It made me think of a very specific window; the huge one in my grandparents’ 1950s living room. I was born into that home, and because my grandparents played such a significant role in raising me, that house was my entire world for the first years of my life.

I can still feel the soft carpet under my back. It was a bright golden color when I was a baby, and later a light cream. I used to lay there for hours, knees up, just swaying them side-to-side while our dog, Sam, napped nearby. I remember one Christmas, when I was already an adult, maybe 2001, watching a snowstorm roll in through that glass while the fireplace warmed the room. The tree outside looked skeletal and still, but it wasn't dead. It was just protecting itself so it could be "perfect for climbing" again come July.

Nature doesn't feel guilty for sleeping in January. My grandparents understood the rhythm of things, and I think I’m finally starting to catch up to them.

I’ve spent this past weekend leaning into my own version of that living room safety. I have a newly thrifted merino wool knit that I’ve been layering with my favorite heatgen tops, and I am wearing my Shepard slippers religiously.

I’m also leaning into the "No." My husband and I are human-child-free, and my favorite way to spend a dark quiet evening is "alone" with our one-year-old Chihuahua boy. I used to feel like I had to be "out" or "productive," but the older I get, the more I realize that my social battery is allowed to be low this time of year. I’m not an early bird, but there's something special about getting into bed and nesting in the blankets.

If you are starting this week feeling a little "asleep," please know that you aren't failing at winter. You are just doing exactly what that tree outside my grandparents' window did. You are preserving your energy.

A little homework for today: Find your version of "laying on the golden carpet." Whether it’s putting on those cute slippers, saying no to an invite, or just swaying your knees and looking out the window for ten minutes.

It’s okay to be still. Spring will find us when it’s time.

Sending you so much warmth,

Sarah