Wintering

a recipe, a poem, and an exclusive playlist

Saying hello to London

Dear Friends,

I write to you cradling a hot water bottle, draped in a grey wool throw. It is my first Saturday at home in four weeks, and Scotland is colder than Hong Kong. Our trip was wonderful, memorable, enjoyable. And yet there is something about homecoming is not only a relief, but a pleasure, to re-experience all the things you love and find comfort in at home with the fresh enjoyment of deprivation.

And yet reentry to Scotland in January does require some courage.

It is cold. Very, very cold. The stones are frosted and slippery, sparkling beautifully but making walking anywhere charged with a certain amount of peril. The sun rises at 8:30AM and begins to set at 3:30PM. It is windy. And when it is not windy it is raining, not vertically, but somehow, sideways. Add to all this, I continue to battle my old foe asthma, and the cold does not seem to help.

Fortunately, I’ve had seasons on the mind more than usual. (After all, one of the things trees do is yield its fruit in season). A section from the excerpt from You are a Tree I shared with you last week has this to say about winter:

Sometimes it can be frightening when it feels like our effort or prayer hasn’t borne fruit. But remembering you are a tree can relieve some of this anxiety by reminding us that even wintery seasons (as long as they feel) may be a time when our roots are growing deep and may precede the decadent glory of spring. This perspective encourages us to pay attention to what is happening in our lives, what season we are in. Trees are constantly adjusting to the weather, the sun, the nutrients in the soil, the activity of bugs and animals. This invites us to adopt a posture of agency in those waiting and wintery seasons; you need not only weather the storm, but also figure out what you need in this season to ready yourself for the next. Do you need to draw strength from the other trees in the forest around you? Do your roots need to grow deeper? In this, meditation on the metaphor of trees can offer some hope: seasons come again and again. Just because you had an early frost in life does not mean you will not bear fruit again. Just because you feel stripped down by life does not mean you will not flower again. You are not a machine, useless when one (or many!) of its parts expire; you are a miraculous and beloved creation, with more resilience pulsing through your roots than you know.

Incidentally, Monika Packer of About Progress asked me to read this section in our conversation about the book (which will come out in a few weeks). All this has conspired to make me think that perhaps I should follow my own and advice and embrace winter. Lean into it. Enjoy it. Below, I share a few winter delights, namely a recipe, a poem, and a playlist I made especially for the book.

As a reminder, Until the release of You are a Tree on February 20th, I will continue to give a month of free subscription to anyone who pre-orders the book. You can claim that by pre-ordering the book and sending me screenshot of your receipt via email. You can simply press reply to this email or reach me at: thejoynessthebrave[at]gmail.com.