“This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year’s threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath, the door of a vanished house left ajar.” — Margaret Atwood

I celebrate the Winter Solstice — the moment in the year when the sun slowly emerges. I think about possibility, surrender, and balance. I think about forgiveness, vulnerability, and heart. I think about way, path, and opening. There is something incredibly hopeful about the Winter Solstice. I embrace it as an invitation to the I am, the as if, and the not yet.

There is a deep connection between the Winter solstice and the Holidays of this time of year. Celebrations of birth and peace. Celebrations of connection and kindness. Celebrations of light and miracles. That all seems solsticey in the way they speak of our better angels. Of angels that rest, comfort, and sing. Of angels that understand grace, hope, and awe. Of angels woven in the fabric of our natural impulse to love and be loved.

The solstice invites wintering.

I have thought about wintering since listening to the On Being podcast “How Wintering Replenishes,” a conversation with Katherine May years ago. Wintering — a verb, in this case, denotes a necessary time of reflection, stock taking, and rest. Wintering means living, experiencing, and breathing. May suggests there are times of global wintering, where isolation, grief, and stillness are part of the air we breathe. She also points to the natural flow of life and suggests we all — people, bees, mice, bears, etc. — perpetually dance with winter. Winter carries a natural weight. That makes sense when I think about the last few years and my experience of perennial goal setting, perpetual movement, noisy thoughts, and a flimsy center tethered to shiny objects.

Thoughts about Katherine May’s Wintering: 

1. Wintering Review: Learning to love the cold — Kate Kalloway’s Guardian book review
2. Walking Through the Wilderness — An interview with Cheryl Strayed
3. Beauty In A Cold Season: Katherine May’s Wintering  — Erin Wiseman
4. The Arcadian Year — Katherine May
5. Katherine May reads an excerpt from Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times

This Winter Solstice, my heart is heavy. The light hangs differently. As much as I try to connect with the perfect timing of the seasons and the vastness and strength of our natural world, it is all so hard to feel. I am scared and fearful and sad. I remind myself there is beauty in darkness and light. I remind myself this is a time of comfort, peace, and joy. I remind myself that the sun, like love, wins.

I will go about unlocking, letting go, catching my breath, and opening doors. I will go about being still and knowing. I will go about celebrating light and darkness. I will go about loving our world and all those in it. I will feed the parts of me that allow all that to happen. That is a big part of wintering and the impulse to which the Winter Solstice connects us. 

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