In those depths of stillness and doing, living and dying, we see what we are capable of, what we can and cannot control—and we rest. Then, we return with something more valuable, and perhaps more innately practical: the next version of ourselves. It is this self that we are seeking with May in the cold by not seeking at all, but the opposite: wintering.

Erin Wiseman, in Beauty In A Cold Season: Katherine May’s Wintering

Wintering helps us find the next version of ourselves. That is comforting in the way a caterpillar leaves its cocoon. That is comforting in the way a snake sheds its skin. That is comforting in the way a tadpole becomes a frog. For each, survival depends on growth. In that way, wintering means survival and growth. Perhaps wintering is more than survival, it is how we thrive. It is how we slow down enough to move forward. It is how we inhale and exhale and live. It is how we listen and see and pay attention and learn. It is how we move through life’s stages. It is how we truly connect with ourselves. It is how we make sense of it all.