JANUARY IS NOT A STARTING LINE.
Behind the scenes play.
A Reflection on Wintering
January arrives with an almost collective urgency. As if we’re meant to leap forward, fully formed, ready to declare who we will be this year. I used to get swept up in that frenetic, out-of-the-gate energy too, convinced that momentum had to be immediate or it somehow didn’t count. But in many cultures, the new year doesn’t even begin in January. This season was never meant for accelerating. January is meant for wintering.
Winter has never worked the way our culture asks it to. In many traditions, the true beginning comes later, when the ground warms and life rises naturally. Winter isn’t a ready, set, go. It’s a season of retreat and rest. A time for tending to what’s happening beneath the surface, what’s germinating and growing, long before anything is visible.
This year, I’m meeting January as a threshold rather than a beginning. That in-between space where nothing needs to be rushed. Like stepping from one room into another and needing a moment for your eyes to adjust. Nothing is wrong. You’re simply acclimating.
The end of last year asked me to slow down. More analogue living. Less sharing outwardly and more attention inward. Keeping my circle small. More living than documenting. Work taking shape behind the scenes. Making art, completing workshops, living life without needing to post every part of it. It wasn’t about pulling away. It was about letting things be while staying present inside my own life.
I’ve learned that rushing doesn’t bring clarity. It brings noise. Much of what we call productivity is layered and complex. Sometimes it’s creativity and momentum. Other times it’s a fear of stillness, a way of staying busy so we don’t have to feel what we’re feeling or listen to our inner voice. Constant motion can even convince us that we’re making a difference, that our lives are somehow more meaningful if we keep spinning. And while movement can be energizing, it can also become a form of numbing, a way to outrun uncertainty or discomfort. Winter invites a different relationship with time, one where we pause long enough to notice what’s actually asking for our attention.
Someone recently said to me, “Just get started.” I found that interesting, because it assumes there’s a clear starting point. But when your work and your life are always changing and evolving, is there ever a single place where you truly begin? It feels far more organic and fluid than that. Life is always unfolding. We’re always learning, changing, expanding, circling back. Growth isn’t a straight line with a clear beginning and end. It’s circular, seasonal and ongoing. There is no single moment where you suddenly begin. You’ve been in process all along. At least, that’s how I’ve come to experience it.
With that in mind, winter asks for something else entirely. I’m no longer interested in hyper-achievement or constant striving. What is there to prove? My work has always been built around my life, not my life built around my work. I believe work can be an extension of who you are, meaningful and alive, without requiring burnout or self-sacrifice. Some people thrive when their work is all-consuming. Others need space, rhythm and separation. We’re all made differently, with different nervous systems. What matters is whether the way you work actually supports the life you want to live.
Winter asks us to trust the unseen. To honor rest without apology. To allow the germinating to happen before announcing arrival. So if you feel a little slower than usual, you’re not failing. If things feel especially quiet or mundane, you’re not off track. January doesn’t need your performance. It needs your presence. I’ve come to understand, some seasons are for building. Others are for listening. Both matter.
xx,
Michel