Wintering
‘Life meanders like a path through the woods. We have seasons when we flourish, and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.’
I'm almost finished reading Katherine May’s ‘Wintering’. May's memoir explores the power of rest and retreat—"wintering"—to heal. Drawing on her own experiences after family illness and a change in employment, May leans into the analogy of wintering to cope with difficult times—drawing on the strength of winter to heal and nourish her whole self.
When her husband becomes ill, the author runs herself ragged and finally, listening to her body, she realizes that she has to commit to a time of retreat in order to restore balance. Her wintering practices may not be what I would choose (she becomes a winter sea swimmer, among other things. Her description of stepping into the cold sea with an adhoc community of other polar plungers is breathtaking).
What feels universal is the need to accept and adjust to our own life seasons–there will simply be times when we need to retreat, in order to heal and recover. Grief, illness, loss. It comes to us all. Each of us will face our own winters.
I'm actually someone who adores the season of Winter (if dressed properly). I revel in climbing mountains in the cold, bundled and tractioned and squinting up into electric blue skies while the tree branches sag with thick, white ropes of snow. It's really magical. Most winters find me climbing multiple mountains (encased in multiple layers). It brings me a kind of quiet exhilaration that is difficult to fully explain even to myself. Part of what is so healing for me is, up at elevation, how utterly quiet and solitary it tends to be. If Winter is a time for retreat, a fallow period that gives us the opportunity to take stock, rest and regenerate, we can choose to see this time as a chance to heal, and can find great solace during these months, in ways that resonate with us uniquely. That might be knitting, cooking, taking polar plunges or snowy hikes.
Yoga, in our studios or in your living room, can be one of these wintering, solace-giving practices.
Through yoga, winter hiking, and meditation, I'm trying to keep my pulse on this restorative magic even while sidestepping the fallout from what is happening to our country.
I sense in the studio a kind of collective wintering as we hit mid-February and face some truly awful and frightening realities happening around us. I sense that the studio is a place we are building and gathering our strength, taking rest in a deliberative, mindful manner. And connecting; always connecting.
On another note, this Saturday I'll teach a free, all-levels class at 5 pm, unless the weather is truly dicey. The class is offered as part of the White River Indie Film festival, but open to everyone and anyone. You can sign up and save a spot—it's free. Bring your mat. (If we have to cancel because of weather I'll post it on the site by 3 or 3:30 so please check in before driving in.)
On Sunday Greg will lead his monthly Yoga Nidra session, which is a delicious, comforting way to burrow into some of the cozier aspects of wintering. Gently guided meditation that takes you into a deep, yogic, almost-sleep. The practice of Yoga Nidra is nourishing, grounding and, in all ways, helpful.
