Winter and the Satisfaction of Sadness
The weather has hovered calmly under twenty degrees all week. Today, it rests at an icy eight degrees.
From my window, there’s little to observe on the sidewalk below. The construction site across from my apartment complex is silent; caterpillar cranes hibernating with their heavy, metal heads tucked between their feet. The few people who dart along the street are swathed in layers of gore-tex, down and wool, obscured from any semblance of human form.
Winter distorts us in that way.
An intrusion of bright, yellow sun disrupted Saturday’s monotonous grey. But it was only for a few hours, and wasn’t enough to seduce me from my central heat. The sky had otherwise cradled a blanket of mist; buildings disappearing past their fifteenth floors into the endless fog above.
And so, with not much interest in losing feeling in my fingers and toes, I nestled in for a long weekend at home.
Winter urges us inwards; into our apartments, into our beds, into ourselves. It’s the season for sadness – well, self-reflection. The holidays only get us so far. The twinkling lights of Christmas trees and window displays eventually fade until all we’re left with is the wait for spring.
But here, in the long stretches of dark days and dark moods, there is much to be gained. Only here, within winter, does it seem suitable to spend so much time alone. Only within winter is a blue mood tolerated (and expected).
I’d like to think winter doesn’t cause sadness, but instead reveals what was always there. It’s January, and our sun-drunk delusions have faded with our tans. We’re forced to be honest with ourselves, forced to be still and to listen more deeply to the sound of our own heartbeats. The part of ourselves we try to hide from reveals itself in dark, winter nights. But, as in childhood, it’s always better to just look under the bed; the truth ultimately being less foreboding than the unknown.
Come spring, this perspective will have melted.
As the season turns, the energy in the air will gather momentum. People will emerge, like buds on branches, from their dwellings, cautiously testing the temperature. Sidewalks will narrow as restaurants ready for their first al fresco diners. Sleeves will shorten, and our pets will lose us to the social calls of friends, the outdoors now teeming with opportunity.
The sun will give us back to ourselves. We’ll walk lighter, with less on our minds. Spring is for connecting, and coming together, and community. We will remember what we have missed: the infectious joy of being with the ones we love, under the sun, when everything seems possible.
And I will graciously give back my solace to the winter season, making room instead for joy, kindness and exploration.
