dark and light

Today, at 10:03 a.m. EST, was the winter solstice. Every day until June 21, 2026, we in the northern hemisphere will be gaining a tiny bit more daylight. The joy of the returning light is at the heart of many of our ancient winter festivals, including Saturnalia and Christmas. With the light, the earth and everything on it and in it comes back to life — our annual, glorious miracle.

And I’m here to say: wait. I’m not ready for it yet.

This fall, I had an asbestos scare; followed by breaking my dominant hand in two places two days before Thanksgiving; followed by dropping my keys into the snow with my non-dominant hand and not being able to find them for four days, despite getting into my ski bibs, uploading a metal detector to my phone and scanning the ground for an hour every day.

I could have made all of that up, but I didn’t.

I need rest, dark, quiet, warm cups of something to drink, my mom’s coral wool blanket. I need, slowly and carefully with my healing hand, to make some recipes from one of her old cookbooks. (Today, I made spice muffins, and they were pretty good.) I need to put up my tree. (Seriously, it’s in its stand full of water, drinking and leaning against the wall like a new Sigma Chi on Pledge Night.) I need more snow — fluffy, wispy, swirling — magic of the highest order. I need to be like the seeds and eggs — resting, waiting, in stillness and peace. 2025 was not what’s commonly known as Tip-Top.

Tonight is the darkest night of the year. Bring it on, in all its velvety glory. Tonight, I am sinking into it like a bath at the end of a very long day.