“Snow creates that quality of awe in the face of a power greater than ours. It epitomizes the aesthetic notion of the sublime, in which greatness and beauty couple to overcome you—
a small, frail human—entirely.”~ Katherine May, Wintering
While some members of my beautiful family are enjoying their first winter in Germany, sending gorgeous pics of snowflakes and bundled-up children playing outside, I'm doing my own kind of "wintering." All of the quotes in this post are from a book highly recommended by my friend, so while I wait for it to become available at the library, I'll read the bits I can find on Goodreads.
January has been challenging, and not in the ways many people think. We here in Florida don't have traditional cold seasons. We don't shovel snow nor worry about our heating bill, and the only snowmen are the ones made of sand on the beach.
“When I started feeling the drag of winter, I began to treat myself like a favoured child: with kindness and love. I assumed my needs were reasonable and that my feelings were signals of something important. I kept myself well fed and made sure I was getting enough sleep. I took myself for walks in the fresh air and spent time doing things that soothed me. I asked myself: What is this winter all about? I asked myself: What change is coming?”
The temps rarely dip into the 30s, and the skies are bright blue much of the time. And yet, I still find myself wanting to hibernate, to curl up with coffee and a blanket, light a fire and spend the day reading and crocheting on the couch with the cats.
So, that's what I've been doing, yet I feel guilty for it, like I should be more productive. I should be tackling that "to do" list, Marie Kond-ing everything, organizing & purging as I see so many other folks doing. I should be back to my walking routine, get that meal plan implemented, set my New Years intentions and shed the ten pounds I have gained.
And yet, I find myself immobilized. I make my way through the day doing the necessities, of course. No one is going hungry nor living in squalor. Our home (despite the still-unrepaired storm damage) is clean enough, tidy enough, but there are messes lurking behind doors and walls that until the aforementioned work is done, I really can't tackle. Since I am an all-or-nothing kind of person, I can't force myself to deal with an unrelated task, I just want to wait until everything is put back together and then I can dive into projects. That may be a while.
“we are in the habit of imagining our lives to be linear, a long march from birth to death in which we mass our powers, only to surrender them again, all the while slowly losing our youthful beauty. This is a brutal untruth. 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.”
Alsoly, as my grandson says, I'm "wintering" in the physical way. The silver streaks are out and proud now, and when I pull my hair back I can no longer see the former color. I am getting a peek at how I'll look when this transition is complete, and so far, I like it. The color is pretty, and though I'm finding that some of my current wardrobe palette looks better (or worse) than before, I think the grey is mostly flattering. I appreciate the slow transition, no matter how strange it may look with these multi-toned tresses. The process is allowing me to come to terms with who I really am, no disguising the aging. It's shocking at times, but also comforting and affirming. "Oh, there you are, my friend! No need to cover up, you're beautiful! Why didn't you let the light shine through sooner?!"
Along with the hair dye, I've also released (thank you for the word, Kali) some other burdens, including the expectations (from myself and others) that I should look a certain way. Should behave a certain way because it's acceptable and expected of me. I stopped having my fingernails "done" months ago, no longer willing to sit in the salon and spend money so that my hands can look "fancier." With as much crafting as I do, and as little time as I spend in "society," it's simply not worth it to me anymore. My hands take a beating from the glue gun, the crochet hook, the sink of dishes, the chlorine and salt water...I am taking care of them as best I can with moisturizer and will probably get a manicure now & then, but the hours and dollars spent on gels are over. Done. I still get a pedicure every few months because I enjoy the experience and the end result, but the same isn't true for my fingers. My hands are hardworking. They can clean a home, create beautiful items that bring joy to others. They can dig holes for milkweed, build habitats, hold newly-born butterflies while they take their first flight.
They can bake bread, turn pages in story-after-story I read to my grandchildren. Most importantly, they can hug and console and hold hands with those babies. They're doing their job, and I'm grateful to them. They don't need to be embellished any further. The sight and feel of June's hand in mine is quite enough.
After an impulse moment of rejoining WW, I immediately felt buyers remorse and resentment. The same with the "food program" I followed to lose 25 pounds a couple years ago. I love the whole foods, completely agree that the way of eating is the healthiest and I still follow it..about 80% of the time. I have realized that I am simply not willing to live my whole life without a scone. Or a slice of my granddaughter's birthday cake. Or a bowl of pasta with homemade sauce. I am therefore releasing myself from that expectation. I like wearing Size 6 jeans, don't get me wrong, and hope that once I start walking again I'll fit into them more comfortably, but not if it means I return to the somewhat disordered thinking/eating that resulted in that smaller body. Life is simply too short for that. 
Just as with my hands, my body is doing an excellent job taking care of me and others. I'm not as thin nor fit as some, but I can walk 3 miles barefoot in the beach, chase June around the yard, keep up with her in Disney World. After all of the running, when we are both tired, I can provide a soft spot for her to rest.
Though I'm no bikini model, my husband still thinks I'm beautiful. He still compliments me and shows his attraction to and appreciation of me, mind and body, in all of the ways I want and need. I hope that never ends, but I know that change is inevitable and eventually we will likely be unable to show our love in those same physical ways, but if and when it does, it won't be due to the number on the scale, just the date on the calendar and the number of candles on our birthday cakes.
So, I guess what I'm saying in this long ramble, is that winter is here, both the season of the earth as well as the season of my life. Along with all of the other stages & changes, I can either fight it tooth and nail or I can relax, lean into it, release the negative demands and embrace it for what it is. I'm not sure if I'd call it "aging gracefully," perhaps easing gratefully would be more like it. Blessings,
Rapunzel
Along with the hair dye, I've also released (thank you for the word, Kali) some other burdens, including the expectations (from myself and others) that I should look a certain way. Should behave a certain way because it's acceptable and expected of me. I stopped having my fingernails "done" months ago, no longer willing to sit in the salon and spend money so that my hands can look "fancier." With as much crafting as I do, and as little time as I spend in "society," it's simply not worth it to me anymore. My hands take a beating from the glue gun, the crochet hook, the sink of dishes, the chlorine and salt water...I am taking care of them as best I can with moisturizer and will probably get a manicure now & then, but the hours and dollars spent on gels are over. Done. I still get a pedicure every few months because I enjoy the experience and the end result, but the same isn't true for my fingers. My hands are hardworking. They can clean a home, create beautiful items that bring joy to others. They can dig holes for milkweed, build habitats, hold newly-born butterflies while they take their first flight. 
Though I'm no bikini model, my husband still thinks I'm beautiful. He still compliments me and shows his attraction to and appreciation of me, mind and body, in all of the ways I want and need. I hope that never ends, but I know that change is inevitable and eventually we will likely be unable to show our love in those same physical ways, but if and when it does, it won't be due to the number on the scale, just the date on the calendar and the number of candles on our birthday cakes. 
