We reached the top of the first pitch, and looked at each other knowingly. “Let’s bail,” I said, and we coiled our rope and headed for the rap station as the sun hid itself behind Middle Cathedral across the valley, and a dreary, soul-sucking cold consumed the afternoon. The truth is, I hadn’t had much fun climbing that first pitch. My toes were freezing in my climbing shoes, which sent a chill of terror through my body as I made unprotected face moves without being able to feel my feet. Snow still lay on the valley floor from winter storms the week before, and the days had been dark and grey, but I was determined to climb something, anything, at the first opportunity. But with dismay, I decided to cut my losses that day, and watched as the sky darkened to a somber shade of grey, and a crow cawed on a dead tree and flew away.
During the first turning of autumn, when the resplendent leaves finally lay to rest on the cold ground, when the days become dramatically short, darkness and cold descending with remorseless rapidity, and the stirring of the wind shocks all life into submission, I always grow weary, not yet ready to battle for warmth through the long dark months ahead. The first month of winter is always the worst. Summer’s touch still lingers in my mind, and I convince myself that I need rays of sunlight to motivate me, and use this as an excuse as I crawl into bed instead of outside. Day after day of overcast skies cast shadows over my mood, and seem to meld together in a palate of grey. Where summer days are so distinct and lively and full of dazzling light, winter days lull me into a state of hazy complacency.
At first, I try and fight this mood. But eventually, the cold settles itself in my bones, and I realize that winter demands a slower pace. The trees and plants shrink and settle, quietly statuesque in their blanket of snow, animals stay active seeking food and shelter, or slow their metabolisms. So we must also adapt to this change – to slow down ourselves, take time to reflect on the busy seasons past and the new year that comes ahead, to use the shorter days to rest more fully, more deeply, as our bodies crave after a summer and fall of going, going, going. To realize that it’s ok to bail, that it’s ok to spend days inside reading books and drinking tea instead of going big and getting after it. That seasons enforce a necessary cyclical rhythm, and we must listen to its suggestions. Take time to rest, for what’s coming next.
