The lights are up. I love them: the way whole neighbourhood decides to glow in the darkest month, the defiant cheer of it. I love the music cycling through coffee shops, the eggnog latte returning to Starbucks, the particular scent of pine and spices that signal it's December, the collective permission to celebrate. This season has always felt like home to me.
And my body is being called to rest.
Not instead of the joy. Alongside it.
Here's the paradox: December is the darkest month. The earth is teaching dormancy, conservation, the wisdom of going inward. Our cultural response is beautiful we light everything we can, we gather, we create warmth against the cold. But we've forgotten the other half. The permission to also rest. To go dark when we need to. To let winter do its work.
Your body knows what it needs. The celebration and the stillness. The brightness
