Make things with your hands
to remember the pace reality is actually meant to move at
For a long time without realizing it, most of my winter rituals have been about returning to the pace of reality by making things with my hands. It is a time where I start knitting again, baking more, and adorning my space much more thoughtfully and carefully than I seem to have the mental spaciousness to do in the summer. It isn’t something I am forcing myself to do, or even consciously wanting to do. It is just something that I do. Naturally. And lately I’ve found myself reflecting on why.
The winter, a season which gets an unfairly harsh reputation in my view, is a time where we are meant to slow down, retreat inwards, and let whatever is no longer vibrant and alive die off in our lives. It is a time where we have full permission to tend to ourselves. To prioritize the stewardship of our inner worlds, because there isn’t nearly as much happening in our outer worlds (largely because it is too cold to make anything happen!)
This spaciousness gives us permission to turn back to the raw materials of our lives, which often lay a little messy and unkempt after the consecutive seasons of doing and extroversion we are now landing from. Winter, in its harshness and persistent cold that send you back inside, gets to be this divine season of care for self. It is a season of slowness, a time where an ideal day might be simply staying inside and baking cinnamon rolls, or preparing a loaf of bread, or knitting a scarf, or rearranging all the furniture in your home, or reorganizing your book collection, or doing your end of year planning and reflecting, or whatever else might return you to the frequency and pace of your own internal life, instead of distracting you with what is happening outside of yourself.
Although it makes rational sense that I feel more called to do things like baking and knitting when the air gets cooler and we crave more warmth and coziness, I also think there is a symbolism in the pace these activities invite me to move at that aligns so seamlessly with this season.
If I decide to make a loaf of bread, I am also committing to babysitting this pile of dough for about four to five hours to carry the process to completion. If I want to make a scarf, it might be weeks of putting a little bit of time into it each day before I have a tangible creation I can use. This is, I think, a slightly lost art in our world of never-ending speed and acceleration. The pace that we need to move at to make things with our hands is humbling. It is a reminder that it takes time to create things. And that the most meaningful creations often were often stitched together with deep, intentional love and energy.
And that, when someone goes out of their way to make something of substance and conscious effort, you can feel the infusion of care devoted to it.
Winter gets to be this beautiful time of regulating back to these slower, softer, more reality-based speeds that it takes to make things like this. It is easy to spend winter on your devices, getting swallowed into more stimulus and chaos, while your inner self withers. But if you take the time this season to return to the things that ground you—whatever those practices are—it can be harnessed as a time to recharge and recalibrate, to return to what truly matters to us and align ourselves before the seasons of expression and action come again. Not every moment needs to be one rich with doing and speed and haste and colour. Embracing this season of pause, of death, of inwards time, is a wonderful reminder to practice letting things simply be. It is a time of taking on longer-term, more patient projects that invite you to return to what matters most to you, at a pace that lets you devote yourself to what you are doing wholeheartedly. There is no rush in the winter; that is its medicine.
Don’t let winter be a season you just white knuckle through, numbing this slower time with withdrawal and avoidance. Sink into it. Allow the slower pace to seep into you. Make things with your hands; let this remind you of the time it takes for change to unfold in reality. Place your attention on what you want to let go of, and simply let. it. go.
This is a time to tend to and polish yourself, preparing your energy for the year ahead. Don’t resist the season’s medicine—drink it up! (Best consumed as hot chocolate paired with cold toes after skating.)
As a little winter treat for all the reading I know you will be doing this season, enjoy 40% off of annual paid subscriptions for the month of December:
If you want to use this inwards time to distill where your inner wisdom is orienting you, and align your work with your intuition to create a life that feels effortless, generative and aligned—apply to work with me 1:1.
related essays you might enjoy: an ode to winter, slow down, embrace the exhale, one thing at a time
You are welcome to share this post with winter-appreciators, or those you wish to convert to winter-appreciators who need this reminder:
I wrote this essay very intuitively right after posting this tweet. I was planning to edit and share it this morning, and woke up to see the tweet had been liked by over 20,000 people! I guess this reminder was really needed in the collective. Sending you all the soft, relaxed feeling that follows a cozy, winter afternoon spent creating something slowly :)
Eeeee! I loved this, Isabel. I think what's especially beautiful about this is your emphasis of hands actually. Your hands literally connect you to the present environment, to the pace of actual reality, and the natural coherence of your body. How could creating with your hands be anything but recharging? :)
Winter is great when you don't expect it to be Summer! I do have a slow/low period every November adjusting to the short days/time change, and last year's was particularly long because of a personal lesson I needed to learn plus it got very cold very early. Almost never snows here in October. But, I got through it and am enjoying the long nights with some leatherworking and other projects.