Winter Reflections

 

It’s appropriate that I’ve been asked to be the reserve blogger for the end of January. I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions in general –  I tend to have a list of ongoing goals that aren’t calendar specific. Instead, I loosely consider January a month for reflection, resisting (sometimes fighting) the urge to make any new commitments.

This year, my month of reflection has looked very different from normal. The end of December was a flurry of activity, rearranging flights last minute to hop over to Princeton, New Jersey on Boxing Day to help my daughter and son-in-law after the birth of their first child (and our first grandchild!), who arrived a little earlier than anticipated.

Being trusted to be with them at such a vulnerable and special time was a privilege, but – I have to be honest – I worked extremely hard. In between being the housekeeper, errand girl and assistant nanny, I was also trying to keep up with my actual paid job (which is not my writing) part-time. For the first few days, the new parents and jet-lagged Nana went around in a bit of a haze, up at all hours, snatching naps when we could. But we soon settled down into a better routine and little pockets of free time opened up.

Reflection wasn’t perhaps the first thing on my mind, but gradually, it came. My son-in-law is currently doing a postdoc at the Institute for Advanced Study. (Side note: one of the Institute’s early directors was the physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer, and some of the scenes of the eponymous movie were filmed on location here.) More importantly for me, the campus borders a nature reserve, so when I had down time, instead of automatically opening up my laptop to work or even my notebook for musings, I often bundled up against the Princeton winter and took long walks through the forest to refill my cup.

I was cautious at first, walking straight up and down the main trails, but soon I started taking detours on the side paths, keeping track of my twists and turns. The first several days, residual snow and ice made the paths slippery. Soon that gave way to mud and puddles I had to negotiate around, then a few days of dry tracks I could stride along, and finally another, glorious snowfall the last weekend I was there, and the chance to tramp alone through beautiful, hushed, white-clad woods. The pathways I had grown familiar with now looked completely different: snow bowed the branches of shrubs and young trees into archways that hovered above my head; new-fallen limbs and even a tree trunk across the path made me hesitate, but after a moment, I climbed over the obstacles and strode on, paying more careful attention to the sights and sounds around me.

The paragraph above is so full of apt metaphors for negotiating the coming year, that I’ll leave you to pick your favourites. Suffice it to say, January was a month without any serious writing, but not without inspiration. I pondered some of the meta issues of the first draft of the cosy mystery I’m working on and brainstormed a short story/novella for the ‘reader magnet’ I’m supposed to have for the email newsletter I hope to begin this year. And, despite the time difference, I got to check in with my ‘local’ ACW group, Jurassic Coast Christian Writers, via Zoom. As I’m writing this, shortly after getting back home, I’m grateful for the unexpected grace given me to renew, reflect and learn in Creation, and to make ready for the trails ahead – mud, fallen trees and all.

Is winter a season of reflection for you? How do you make room for and practise that in your life? I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

Susan Cook was born in London but has been an unintentional expat for most of her adult life. She currently works in Slovenia, and her UK base is now Dorset, which is also the setting for her historical novels and mysteries. You can find her at www.susandcook.com or on Instagram @susandcookauthor.