Finding Stillness in the Holiday Rush: The Forgotten Practice of Winter Reflection
In nature, winter is a time of rest. Trees shed their leaves, animals slow their pace, and the world grows quiet under blankets of snow.Yet somehow, we humans have transformed this natural period of stillness into our busiest season – a whirlwind of activities, obligations, and endless to-do lists. But what if we're missing something essential by fighting against winter's natural rhythm?
Our ancestors understood something we've forgotten: winter holds unique gifts wrapped in darkness and silence. Medieval Europeans called it the "fallow period," when fields and minds alike would rest and regenerate. Native American traditions reserved these long nights for storytelling and contemplation. Even in ancient Rome, the festival of Saturnalia included periods of quiet reflection amid the celebrations. The wisdom was simple – winter wasn't just a season to be endured, but a sacred time of turning inward. When the world grew dark and cold, people gathered close, moved slowly, and listened deeply. They understood that this natural pause held purpose.
Today's holiday season paints a vastly different picture.
Image Credit: @iankeefe
We fill every moment with motion: rushing between social commitments, navigating crowded stores, orchestrating elaborate celebrations, and coordinating complicated travel plans. Our phones buzz constantly with holiday notifications, our inboxes overflow with seasonal sales, and our calendars burst with events.
By January, instead of feeling renewed, we emerge exhausted. We've pushed through winter like it's any other season, ignoring its invitation to slow down and reflect. In our resistance to winter's natural rhythm, we've lost something precious – the gift of stillness. Winter thinking differs fundamentally from summer thinking. Summer thoughts dance like butterflies, flitting from flower to flower under bright skies. But winter thoughts are deeper, more contemplative – like roots growing slowly through dark soil. This season naturally invites us to examine our lives with patient attention.
In the quiet of a winter morning, watching steam rise from a coffee cup ( my favorite ever on the planet….ever!), we might finally hear the questions we've been too busy to acknowledge.
What dreams did we set aside this year?
What relationships need tending?
What parts of ourselves have we neglected in the rush of warmer seasons?
Reclaiming winter's gifts doesn't require abandoning holiday joy or traditional celebrations. Instead, it means weaving quiet moments into the fabric of our festivities. It means honoring the darkness as much as we celebrate the light. Consider the early morning hours, when the world still sleeps. There's profound peace in being the first one awake, watching winter light slowly paint the sky. Or the evening hours, when darkness falls early, inviting us to light candles instead of harsh overhead lights. ( Are you a night owl or a morning bird?)
These moments, small as they seem, can become anchors of stillness in the holiday rush.
Perhaps the greatest gift we can give ourselves this season is permission to do less. This isn't laziness – it's wisdom. Just as a field needs fallow time to return richer crops, our minds and spirits need quiet periods to restore creativity and joy.
This might mean saying no to some invitations. It might mean leaving one evening completely unplanned each week.
It might mean turning off phones and sitting in candlelight, listening to the sound of winter wind. These choices, though counter-cultural, honor winter's true nature.
Imagine a holiday season where moments of stillness balance the celebration. Where every gathering doesn't need to be grand. Where some evenings are spent simply watching snow fall or stars emerge. Where we make space for winter's quiet gifts: contemplation, rest, and renewal.
This season offers us an invitation. In the midst of holiday brightness, it asks us to remember the wisdom of dark and quiet times. To slow our pace. To turn inward. To listen deeply.
Because sometimes the most meaningful moments aren't found in the rush and dazzle of holiday events, but in the quiet spaces between them.
In these pauses, we might discover winter's greatest gift – the chance to hear our own hearts more clearly.
How do you spend winter?
