Usually I’m philosophical about the below-zero temperatures and snow we have every Winter in Minnesota. The deep freeze is a time to stay indoors, be less social, and avoid unnecessary errands. Mother Nature pushes me to slow down, be more introspective, and read more. It can also be a time of creative planning (gardens, vacations, workouts), organizing or clearing out (closets, photos, files), and tackling household projects I wouldn’t bother with when the weather is nice and I can be outside. For a little while that feels OK, maybe even good, as if I’m in tune with a natural, almost circadian, rhythm.
This is what I’m supposed to be doing now: wearing wooly socks, making soups and stews, and settling in to watch old movies or stream new TV series. But with the persistent, longer-than-usual spell of extreme cold weather this Winter, I feel as if I’ve shifted from slowing down in a pleasant, restorative way to being dormant. On pause. Hiding, like a tulip bulb buried deep in the ground. Waiting for enough time to pass so I can come back to life. I’ve been getting restless with so much reading and TV. And I’m trying hard not to register the waiting, which makes it worse.
I’ve lived in Minnesota long enough to know this spell will pass. The temperatures are already moderating. The days are getting longer. The torpor of these frozen days will dim so much that by August, I’ll wonder if I imagined the feeling.
But for now, like my plants, I’m hunkered down.
Dormant. ❖
