11/03/2025
I read this book a while back. A good one to read as the seasons changes
There is a specific quality to the light in late Novemberâa thin, slanting gold that promises the coming cold. I used to dread it, seeing it as the starting pistol for a season of endurance. I would pile on layers, both literal and metaphorical, and brace myself, believing that the only way through the dark was to outrun it, to pretend it wasn't there.
Reading Katherine Mayâs "Wintering" is like someone giving you permission to stop running and instead, to learn the ancient, quiet art of how to be cold. This book is not a memoir of one particular crisis, but a lyrical, deeply personal exploration of those fallow periods in lifeâthe times of illness, heartbreak, depression, or simply profound disorientationâthat she names "winterings." It is a field guide to the necessary, cyclical art of retreat, arguing that these periods are not a failure of living, but a vital part of the whole.
1. Wintering is a Season of the Soul, Not a Calendar Event
May reframes "winter" from a meteorological fact to a psychological and spiritual state. It is a "fallow period in life when youâre cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider." It is a time when life asks you to slow down, whether you want to or not.
2. It is a Natural and Necessary Cycle
Just as the natural world needs winter to rest and regenerate, so do we. Our cultureâs obsession with perpetual summerâendless productivity, optimism, and growthâis unsustainable and ultimately destructive. Wintering is not a problem to be solved, but a season to be honored. It is the compost for the spring that will inevitably follow.
3. The Work of Winter is Rest, Not Hustle
When we find ourselves in a winter, our instinct is to fight our way out. May proposes the radical alternative: to surrender. The work of winter is to rest, to sleep, to read, to stare out the window. It is to tend to our most basic needs with a kind of fierce tenderness, as if we were caring for a beloved, ailing friend.
4. We Must Learn from the Natural World's Intelligence
Woven throughout the book are beautiful observations of how nature endures winterâthe hibernation of bees, the resilience of trees, the survival of arctic plants. May doesn't just use these as metaphors; she presents them as active teachers. They show us how to conserve energy, how to draw sustenance from hidden reserves, and how to trust in the return of the light.
5. Winter is a Time of Seeing in the Dark
When the extroverted, busy world falls away, our senses change. We begin to notice different things. Wintering sharpens our perception of small comfortsâthe warmth of a cup of tea, the comfort of a heavy blanket, the stark beauty of a bare tree against a gray sky. It forces a kind of clarity and strips life down to its essentials.
6. It is an Invitation to a Slower, More Rhythmic Way of Being
May champions the idea of marking time through small, comforting rituals. Lighting a candle at dusk, baking bread, swimming in the icy seaâthese acts are not distractions from winter, but ways of aligning oneself with its rhythm. They are anchors in the turbulent, dark sea.
7. We Must Make a "Graceless Art" of Our Stumbles
Our culture hides its winterers, shaming them for their inability to be perpetually productive. May gives us the language to reclaim this time, to see it not as a graceless fall from grace, but as a "graceless art" in its own rightâthe art of falling apart, of being vulnerable, of admitting need.
8. Winter is a Universal Experience, Yet Deeply Personal
The book normalizes this experience. Everyone will winter at some point. Knowing this does not erase the pain, but it does combat the profound loneliness that often accompanies it. You are not broken; you are cyclical. You are part of a long, unbroken lineage of humans who have had to learn how to survive the dark.
9. The Goal is Not to Escape Winter, But to Befriend It
The ultimate aim is to shed our fear of these fallow periods. By learning the skills of winteringârest, retreat, ritual, and radical self-acceptanceâwe can meet these times not with dread, but with a sense of purpose. We can learn to see them as a time of deep, quiet, and essential renewal.
10. Spring is Inevitable, But So is the Next Winter
The book ends not with a triumphant blast of sunshine, but with the gentle, reassuring knowledge that spring will come. But it also reminds us that another winter will follow. The point is not to reach a permanent summer, but to become skilled at navigating the entire wheel of the year, to live a life that has room for both the bloom and the root.
The bookâs most resonant line is a gentle mantra: "Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife." "Wintering" is a beautiful, wise, and consoling book. It is for anyone who is in a dark season, who has just emerged from one, or who senses one on the horizon. It is a quiet rebellion against the cult of positivity and a profound reminder that in the cave you fear to enter lies the treasure you seek. It is a handbook for the soul, teaching us that sometimes, the most courageous thing we can do is to simply stop, and let the snow fall.
There is a specific quality to the light in late Novemberâa thin, slanting gold that promises the coming cold. I used to dread it, seeing it as the starting pistol for a season of endurance. I would pile on layers, both literal and metaphorical, and brace myself, believing that the only way through the dark was to outrun it, to pretend it wasn't there.
Reading Katherine Mayâs "Wintering" is like someone giving you permission to stop running and instead, to learn the ancient, quiet art of how to be cold. This book is not a memoir of one particular crisis, but a lyrical, deeply personal exploration of those fallow periods in lifeâthe times of illness, heartbreak, depression, or simply profound disorientationâthat she names "winterings." It is a field guide to the necessary, cyclical art of retreat, arguing that these periods are not a failure of living, but a vital part of the whole.
Wintering is a Season of the Soul, Not a Calendar Event
May reframes "winter" from a meteorological fact to a psychological and spiritual state. It is a "fallow period in life when youâre cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider." It is a time when life asks you to slow down, whether you want to or not.
It is a Natural and Necessary Cycle
Just as the natural world needs winter to rest and regenerate, so do we. Our cultureâs obsession with perpetual summerâendless productivity, optimism, and growthâis unsustainable and ultimately destructive. Wintering is not a problem to be solved, but a season to be honored. It is the compost for the spring that will inevitably follow.
The Work of Winter is Rest, Not Hustle
When we find ourselves in a winter, our instinct is to fight our way out. May proposes the radical alternative: to surrender. The work of winter is to rest, to sleep, to read, to stare out the window. It is to tend to our most basic needs with a kind of fierce tenderness, as if we were caring for a beloved, ailing friend.
We Must Learn from the Natural World's Intelligence
Woven throughout the book are beautiful observations of how nature endures winterâthe hibernation of bees, the resilience of trees, the survival of arctic plants. May doesn't just use these as metaphors; she presents them as active teachers. They show us how to conserve energy, how to draw sustenance from hidden reserves, and how to trust in the return of the light.
Winter is a Time of Seeing in the Dark
When the extroverted, busy world falls away, our senses change. We begin to notice different things. Wintering sharpens our perception of small comfortsâthe warmth of a cup of tea, the comfort of a heavy blanket, the stark beauty of a bare tree against a gray sky. It forces a kind of clarity and strips life down to its essentials.
It is an Invitation to a Slower, More Rhythmic Way of Being
May champions the idea of marking time through small, comforting rituals. Lighting a candle at dusk, baking bread, swimming in the icy seaâthese acts are not distractions from winter, but ways of aligning oneself with its rhythm. They are anchors in the turbulent, dark sea.
We Must Make a "Graceless Art" of Our Stumbles
Our culture hides its winterers, shaming them for their inability to be perpetually productive. May gives us the language to reclaim this time, to see it not as a graceless fall from grace, but as a "graceless art" in its own rightâthe art of falling apart, of being vulnerable, of admitting need.
Winter is a Universal Experience, Yet Deeply Personal
The book normalizes this experience. Everyone will winter at some point. Knowing this does not erase the pain, but it does combat the profound loneliness that often accompanies it. You are not broken; you are cyclical. You are part of a long, unbroken lineage of humans who have had to learn how to survive the dark.
The Goal is Not to Escape Winter, But to Befriend It
The ultimate aim is to shed our fear of these fallow periods. By learning the skills of winteringârest, retreat, ritual, and radical self-acceptanceâwe can meet these times not with dread, but with a sense of purpose. We can learn to see them as a time of deep, quiet, and essential renewal.
Spring is Inevitable, But So is the Next Winter
The book ends not with a triumphant blast of sunshine, but with the gentle, reassuring knowledge that spring will come. But it also reminds us that another winter will follow. The point is not to reach a permanent summer, but to become skilled at navigating the entire wheel of the year, to live a life that has room for both the bloom and the root.
The bookâs most resonant line is a gentle mantra: "Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife." "Wintering" is a beautiful, wise, and consoling book. It is for anyone who is in a dark season, who has just emerged from one, or who senses one on the horizon. It is a quiet rebellion against the cult of positivity and a profound reminder that in the cave you fear to enter lies the treasure you seek. It is a handbook for the soul, teaching us that sometimes, the most courageous thing we can do is to simply stop, and let the snow fall.
BOOK: https://amzn.to/47PkQLx
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