I have a theory about Winter.  It is supposed to be slow and quiet and empty.  And our culture doesn't “do” these very well.  That is why we struggle with the “Winter blahs” and complain about the long dark nights.  And wish for Spring in the middle of January. 

But I believe that we actually need the slowness, the quiet, the emptiness.  In January, we are tired and over-simulated and satiated from the Holiday Season.  But instead of settling into a state of restfulness, we give in to marketing strategies that tell us it is time to overhaul our bodies and our homes and our life-styles.  We feel compelled to do all the things we put off until “after The Holidays” immediately — under the impression that activity will dispel the Winter doldrums.  Think about it.  The night following a terrific party — one you have planned for and prepared for over weeks — would you start to re-organize your closet and plan a trip for Spring Break and hit the treadmill hard?  Or would you sit with a cup of tea and talk over the evening with your spouse?  And then trundle off to bed and a good night’s sleep?

It has taken me most of January to think this through.  Because, of course, I was busy trying to get busy — while my body and my brain dragged through the month.  With my Finnish blood, I would think I would slip into the slow-quiet-empty of Winter naturally.  But our Pacific Northwest Winters are mild and there is significant daylight (compared to the Northern latitudes).  So, the climate does not slow us down, really.  We can trudge right through January and February wondering at our own lethargy and lack of drive.  

The best times this month have been the times I have let go of the calendar and the to-do list.  I built a LEGO “State of Liberty” model!  It was soothing and joyful.  I relished just following the illustrated directions (no words! so restful!) step-by-step.  I lost track of time (something I never do).  It was so very satisfying.  

I realize that I need to bring this same attitude to my Winter knitting.  Instead of grumbling at how long it is taking me to finish projects, I could just enjoy the process.  Instead of setting up arbitrary deadlines so I can “accomplish something” I could allow the project to take the lead and peacefully follow it to its conclusion.  

The Danish have a word for it:  hygge.  It means “a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being.”  Sounds pretty good to me!  And I think it has emerged from the Northern Winters — a gift of the long, dark nights, the frigid cold, the emptiness.  And I believe that by embracing the slow and quiet and empty of Winter, we can be re-charged and ready for Spring when it comes.

The other night, George and I were watching a movie.  He was wearing flannel and propped up on the couch with his feet up (there was a faux fur pillow and a Pendleton wool blanket) with one of my shawls draped over the back of his neck (against the cold from the window behind him) drinking hot tea — we had a scented candle burning and the cat was snuggled at his feet.  He was the fieldguide-worthy illustration of hygge!  That is the spirit I hope to bring to my days and evenings for the next few weeks.  And to my knitting too.