There is a privacy about [winter] which no other season gives you. . . . In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself. -- Ruth Stout
This is my life. Winter is here, in the country, in Idaho. I feel no guilt about my hermit status. I'm totally indulging in "longer, quiet stretches when [I] can savor belonging to [myself]." In summer, I wanted to cram everything into a day: fun, adventure, work, moving, moving, moving. Winter, the opposite. I could sit on the couch all day, wrapped in a blanket, absorbed in a book. My "to do" lists are shorter, much shorter. I'm prone to movies after school, kids snuggled close, laundry that takes all day long, pj's until 2 or 3pm, hot chocolate breaks. Winter slows everything down, especially me (well, everything except my brain. I'm still analyzing, thinking...always. I'm not sure if that's a strength or a weakness?). It feels good; like one long, deep, seasonal breath. What should I call it? Seasonal-regrouping?
I love this idea to "savor belonging to myself." Admittedly, I'm a nerd. A nerd who reads the dictionary for pleasure. Words. Savor. "To taste with pleasure." Relish. Winter brings introspection. An open season with myself. I can see myself laid bare, just like the trees outside. Being a hermit can do that to you. Really. When you're not around people, not influenced by others, what they're doing, not talking to people (except your family) every day, it just happens. Good can come of that. I'm free to see myself honestly, more as the Lord would see me, instead of caring how others see me. I can make changes in myself and know that they're motivated by yearnings to draw closer to God. Pure intent, no self-deception. Well, these are the things that winter brings to me this cold, crisp evening. My winter tribute. The trick is making sure that what's learned in winter carries over into spring, summer . . .