I don’t feel right. And I’m trying to tell myself that that’s OK. I’m trying to remind myself that seasons of life come and go. Some are plentiful and fruitful; others are dark and dreary. Each is temporary, even if it feels eternal.
For me, it’s winter.
When we first moved to the US it was the spring season of my life. I was investing a lot of time and energy into putting down roots. Everything was fresh and new, and there were exciting signs of what was to come.
I was exploring a new home and neighbourhood, learning about a new culture and its customs, and getting the lay of a whole new land.
I was a puzzle piece happily hunting for my space in the bigger picture. A seed searching for just the right soil.
It was the season of new beginnings. Of buds and blooms and blossoms. But it was also a time to plan for what lay ahead. Even in the dawn of the year, I was preparing for sunset.
When we have much, we do well to squirrel some away for when we have little.
And so I spent my spring laying foundations for the future.
My summer brought joy and fun and play. I patted myself on the back for my previous hustle and bustle, basked in the warm glow of a job well done, and spent my energy on things that weren’t a slog.
Roots were taking hold, and I was taking it all in. Buds were blooming, birds were singing, routines were forming and finalising. I was on solid ground and in my stride.
I was making my mark on the creator community here in Cincinnati and its environs, attending meet-ups and giving talks. Bright blue skies of opportunity stretched endlessly before me. The horizon was clear and I was frequently setting out to meet it, going on adventures across the US and even home to Ireland.
I wasn’t so much stepping into a new way of life as I was stomping and jumping with joyful abandon.
Things that had been so foreign to me were now familiar. Strangers were now lifelong friends. I finally figured out what every switch in the house did. I found half decent bread.
Everything was coming together nicely.
Then, I experienced an autumn and it was back to work. The seeds I planted in spring were now shooting to the sky and I had to put in a huge amount of effort to reap the rewards. I attended events, sought out new experiences, said yes to opportunities, took on more work than I thought possible, and watched in satisfaction as my crops yielded results and the silo of my soul filled right up.
Harvesting was hard, but it was also satisfying. It was the result of my own sweat and determination. Everything I fought for came to fruition and, though there was a lot of easy pickings, the rest required that I climb ever higher and dig ever deeper.
There was no bounty to be had in merely skimming the surface. I worked hard in spring, had my rest in summer, and now it was back to the grindstone to ensure it wasn’t all for naught.
I had my nose to it for quite a while. We’ve become good friends, that grindstone and I.
And now it’s winter. The cold and dark season of my life where my body, mind, and emotions are spent and I can do nothing but make the most of this time of rest. My heart still yearns for light but my head knows it’s time to draw the shades for a short while.
I haven’t fallen out of love with writing and reading and recording videos, but I have hit a wall. I’ve tried fighting it and breaking through it and climbing over it and crawling under it. But my energy levels are low so, for now, all I can do is peep through the cracks and claw a few small stones loose. I know there’s something great on the other side, and I’m slowly forming plans for when the seasons come full circle.
For now, I’m both overwhelmed and underwhelmed. I harvested more than ever before, but also less than I’m fully capable of. I want to do everything, yet have energy for nothing. I go back and forth between planning a great comeback… and eating biscuits in bed.
What I wouldn’t give for an in-between feeling.
But the truth is that, while I may wish for another season, that won’t make it so. Winter has a purpose. It’s time to stop fighting and focus on rejuvenating. The dark days are for taking stock. For holing up, living off your harvest, and rebuilding your strength for when spring inevitably and mercifully rolls back around again.
I need to stop trying to fast forward. It leaves me feeling nothing but frustrated.
So I’ve settled into a cosy corner to wait out the winter. All in all, it’s mild. And momentary. I guess I just don’t do well in the dark. All my discipline and motivation is folded into frozen soil. But oh, just wait until those first slivers of sunshine.
Whatever season of life you’re in, know that it’s temporary. If it’s bad, it will pass. If it’s good, don’t take it for granted.
This is a long and rambling way of saying I’m resting up. I’m fine. This is my December, but my skin is already tingling with the thoughts of spring.
While I work my way back, why not check out one of these older posts: