A boyhood in snowy Wisconsin left my dad with an aversion for January, February, and March—the “dark months” which he merely endured, sighing through a long boring waiting period of sniffling, cold feet, snow shoveling, windshield scraping, drafts, freezing bed sheets, slick icy patches, dangerous driving, and being cooped up indoors…

And lo, he passed his distaste for winter on to me, who then wasted years of perfectly useful winter months. Writing them off just like my childhood hero did, I dragged myself through them, counting the dreary days til spring.

When Dad died, I realized I couldn’t afford to throw away a quarter of my life on mental darkness anymore, so I graciously deigned to inspect the mixed blessings of this gift more closely….

Hmmmm. No big family holidays during these months; family gatherings here at home are wonderful, but I love my quiet schedule, too…. And no “perfect” weather to lure me outside, away from indoor work and play.

So I looked more closely, and saw that…

These three months are a special time to refresh, review, re-energize, rejuvenate, reorganize. All my achievements of the coming year find their first forms within these months’ quiet listening. They’re productive, rewarding months, where I find the inner resolve to do what’s important the rest of the year.

In all the other months I can go rushing around like an idiot, babbling with spring, bursting with summer’s red-hot pleasures, skyrocketing with the harvest of fall’s energy….

But winter nudges me to stay inside, slow down, nurture myself and my own, lift spirits with art and beauty, stop and smell the comfort food, cross things off my life-list, throw stuff away, create a new habit or a new masterpiece, start my year thoughtfully and meditatively….

Winter is mother earth’s rest time, when all her little earthlings roll themselves up like moles into warm balls of fluffy blankets, to drowse, to sleep, to dream of life renewed.

And when I tire of retiring, I’ll bundle up and go outdoors for a crunchy walk in all the variations of wintry weather, see the snowbirds, the gaunt trees, rosy faces, icicles, snow angels, and the soft winter sun….

(Author’s addendum: If you’re working on trading in winter blues for “cold’s opposite,” as I did, here’s a different and very helpful observation on the “dark months” from “Seasons at Eagle Pond,” by the amazing word-painter and idea-smith, Donald Hall….)

“Some of us…are darkness-lovers. We do not dislike the early and late daylight of June, whip-poorwill’s graytime, but we cherish the gradually increasing dark of November, which we wrap around ourselves in the prosperous warmth of woodstove, oil, electric blanket, storm window, and insulation. We are partly tuber, partly bear. Inside our warmth we fold ourselves in the dark and its cold—around us, outside us, safely away from us; we tuck ourselves up in the long sleep and comfort of cold’s opposite, warming ourselves by the thought of the cold, lighting ourselves by darkness’s idea. Or we are Persephone gone underground again, cozy in the amenities of Hell. Sheltered between stove and electric light, we hollow islands of safety within the cold and dark. As light grows less each day, our fur grows thicker.”

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