Wintering

“Over and over again, we find that winter offers us liminal spaces to inhabit. Yet we still refuse them. The work of the cold season is to learn to welcome them.”~Katherine May, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times

Is there a winter-bound midwesterner who hasn’t toyed with the fantasy of Brian Wilson’s “endless summer” on a sun-drenched beach? And who doesn’t envy the pals who have condos in Florida or Mexico, and manage to escape winter entirely?

But hold your mittens. I’m gaining new respect for “wintering” after a friend gave me a copy of Katherine May’s book of essays, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times (Riverhead Books).

Borrowing lessons and ideas from natural science, mythology, and classic literature, May writes with candor about experiencing the physical and emotional challenges of the winter months while struggling with her own family crises and medical issues. 

Is it possible for anyone to be happy all the time? Having battled her own dark winters, the author challenges our cultural expectations that everything should look and feel perfect, whether we’re posting on social media or sharing our experiences in person. Most of us have been raised to “keep the sunny side up” while underplaying the negative, she suggests.

“We like to imagine that it’s possible for life to be one eternal summer and that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves,” May writes.

May, who lives in England, reminds us that winter is an important part of the growth cycle — for plants, animals, and humans. 

All of us experience seasons when we feel as though we’re metaphorically stumbling through sunless days, or maybe just hibernating. We lose jobs and loved ones; we lose our balance in the early days of parenting. Friends betray or disappoint us. Or we lose our youth and energy, and we question what’s next. That’s “wintering” too, May suggests. 

“If happiness is a skill, then sadness is, too,” she writes. “Perhaps through all those years at school, or perhaps through other terrors, we are taught to ignore sadness, to stuff it down into our satchels and pretend it isn’t there. As adults, we often have to learn to hear the clarity of its call. That is wintering. It is the active acceptance of sadness.” 

With a passion for natural science, the author also takes her readers to other regions where the northern lights are palpable and winters are even more frigid than we midwesterners could imagine. She swims in icy waters and explores the Scandinavian ritual of using the sauna, demonstrating how winter teaches vital lessons in survival.  

May believes that winter’s “fallow time” gives us much-needed permission to rest or pull back from our activities or obligations. Just as buds do their inner work on the winter-dormant branches of trees, our brains work silently to repair or rejuvenate before we begin a new phase of growth. During fallow time, we might putter aimlessly around the house or daydream while we reorganize our bookshelves or closets.  

“I used to think that these were wasted days, but I now realize that’s the point,” May writes. “I am doing nothing very much, not even actively being on holiday. I clear out my cupboards, ready for another year’s onslaught of cooking and eating. I go for cold walks that make my ears ache. I am not being lazy. I’m not slacking. I’m just letting my attention shift for a while, away from the direct ambitions of the rest of my year. It’s like revving my engines.” 

Wintering isn’t for the faint-hearted, of course. It requires stamina and patience — and a willingness to face the cold, hard questions that arise when you make time for self-reflection. Just as our neighbors head south to escape winter weather, most people would totally avoid emotional suffering if they could. 

“Wintering is the courage to stare down the worst parts of our experience and to commit to healing them the best we can,” May writes. “Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife.” 

This lyrical, thought-provoking book strikes exactly the right chord for those who are stuck indoors while waiting for April to arrive. It speaks to the dark, worried places in our souls, reminding us that spring will come when we’re ready for it. ~Cindy La Ferle

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