It’s here: the darker days of the year. The days when the sun seems to set before you’re even ready for it, and where the darkness reminds us of all that’s been unsettled in our heart, body and mind.
The metaphorical and literal darkness of the season feels particularly resonant this year. It’s been trying for us individually, collectively and as a country, hasn’t it? We mustn’t go through the whole list—we all feel it. And while we know there is a road ahead, in darkness the pathway is not immediately visible. We find ourselves sitting—waiting—to gain visibility again.
It’s not a comfortable place to be in. It’s disorienting yet quiet; slow yet somewhat troubling. This in-between period is hard on us as human beings, after all. We don’t jump at the chance to sit in the discomfort of uncertainty, although our entire lives are based around the unknown. We cringe at transition, even though we are in a constant state of transition as human beings. And the stillness goes against everything we’ve been conditioned to do and produce.
As the founder of The Highland Project, I lead a values-aligned coalition of Black women leaders and their allies who are designing and leading solutions that create multi-generational wealth and change for the nation. And in this role, I am often sitting with the unknown. The road to justice, after all, has never been a straight line. But in these moments when the world feels particularly still, I have cultivated a practice, not to retreat, but to consider:
What if we were to make space for this season of darkness? To use it as a way to examine our relationship with change in a way that harnesses us toward liberation? How might it make us stronger and unleash possibility?
As the days get shorter and the night begins to stretch on, it is clear that we cannot change the season–just like we cannot change ourselves in this moment, where we are confronted by our own thoughts, concerns and fears. Too often we allow this uncertainty to bring us deeper into scarcity mindsets and collective resignations. But if we reclaim the darkness around us, we can step into our power and shape the possibilities in front of us.
These days, I find myself bundling up to take long walks around Central Park, where I take note of the silent cues from the natural world around me. And as I walk along, time and time again, I come back to these words from author Katherine May:
“‘Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through.”
These words remind me that the natural world around us is releasing, unshedding, shifting because new things are possible. It reminds me in moments of change and uncertainty, there is more than one way forward–not just one. But it requires us to first and foremost accept and embrace what is rather than jumping immediately to what can be.
Winter pushes us to honor it. Savor it as a season of deep introspection, of clearing, and eventually, of creating. This month, don’t allow yourself to be consumed by uncertainty or activated by click-bait headlines or doom scrolling on social media. Silence the distractions around you, and take in the moments to listen and stay curious to the inner thoughts and questions you’re holding. Acknowledge that we are all in process, and honor yourself around the ways you’ve been transformed, what it took and what it continues to take. There is no level to unlock here.
I’m not suggesting that finding transformative possibilities in our current moment is easy. It is cold. It is dark. Our future is uncertain. But that uncertainty is the greatest gift we have right now. The darkness is our harbor. And when we allow ourselves to be still in it, we can receive and study the messages that are all around us. It was never just about the destination, but how we move through the journey to get there.
It’s time that we walk into the fullness of winter: a time to explore how you found your presence in the past, where you might need to fortify your foundation, and what it looks and feels like to build a legacy where you are embodying grounding.
So while we take this moment to reflect and recharge, we will be preparing for growth, just like the plants beneath the frozen ground. Hibernation is not the end; it’s transition. Get rest. See you in the spring.