The Season I’m In Right Now

Dear Gentle Soul,

January always arrives with new goals, intentions, and expectations. But long about mid-month, many of those good intentions begin to soften, quietly giving way to familiar routines and well-worn comfort zones.

And maybe that’s not all bad.

As cold and snow have truly taken hold here this winter, I’ve found myself perfectly content not to push against the season—but to move with it instead.

What This Season Feels Like

This season feels quieter than the ones before it.
Less about becoming something new, and more about settling into what already is.

It feels like early mornings with soft light and warm mugs.
Like snow falling without urgency.
Like moments that ask to be noticed rather than rushed past.

I’ve been savoring the simple comforts winter offers—
a cup of hot cocoa cradled between my hands,
a cozy throw pulled close on the couch,
the familiar hush that settles over everything when the world turns white.

These moments may seem small.
But they are steady.
And they are enough.

Learning to Be Content With Less

Winter has a way of narrowing our focus.

The days grow shorter.
The pace slows.
And in that quiet, contentment begins to feel less like something to chase and more like something to receive.

I’m learning that joy doesn’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes it shows up in the warmth of a mug,
in the comfort of staying in,
or in the simple relief of not needing to be anywhere else.

After years of commuting downtown in all kinds of weather, and later, fulfilling family obligations no matter the season or circumstance, there is a deep gratitude in being able to stay home now—to watch the snow fall quietly from the window and know I don’t have to go anywhere at all.

At this stage of life, that kind of stillness doesn’t feel indulgent.
It feels earned.

What I’m Carrying Less Of

I’m carrying less urgency.
Less pressure to justify where I am or where I’m headed.
Less need to keep pace with timelines that don’t belong to me.

Not every season asks for momentum.
Some ask us to pause.
Some ask us to linger.

What I’m Making Space For

I’m making space for slow creativity—the kind that unfolds without deadlines or expectations.
For prayer that feels more like breathing than striving.
For routines that quietly support rather than impress.

I’m also making space for comfort—
warm drinks, soft blankets, familiar books, unhurried evenings at home.

Not as an escape, but as an act of care.

One Small Anchor

Right now, my anchor is simple:
a quiet moment each morning before the day fully begins.

A candle.
A pen.
A few honest words on the page.

Nothing polished.
Nothing profound.
Just presence.

If you’re in a season like this too—one that feels slower, softer, or harder to define—know this:

You’re not behind.
You’re not doing it wrong.
You’re simply in this season.

And this season matters.

Warmly,

Beth