Winter as Sleep

I have grown to dislike winter, if I’m being honest.

I try to embrace it. I really do. I attempt to appreciate it, to romanticize it even—but I haven’t been able to love it the way I wish I could. I’ve often described winter as feeling like a waste of time. Too quiet. Too still. Too long. And then, this morning, a thought settled in...

I don’t like sleep either.

If I didn’t have to sleep, I probably wouldn’t. There are always things I want to be doing, ideas I want to chase, lists I want to finish. There never seems to be enough time. Sleep feels… inconvenient. But of course, sleep is necessary. Essential, even. It restores the body, clears the mind, steadies the spirit. We know this so deeply that sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. That should tell us something.

Sleep isn’t actually inactive. It’s doing important work without our awareness—repairing, renewing, strengthening—until we wake up and benefit from the results. We also know what happens when we don’t get enough of it. We become impatient. Short-tempered. Confused. Selfish. Worn thin in ways that surprise us.

If winter is the seasonal equivalent of sleep, then maybe it deserves a little more grace. Maybe it isn’t wasted time at all. Maybe it’s doing quiet work beneath the surface—work the other seasons will benefit from in time.

I don’t know that this will make me love winter, but it might help me respect it.

And sometimes, that’s enough.