Winter’s Wonder

Winter’s Wonder

Written: 2004 and published in Wellesley Weston Magazine

by Beth Nast

 

At the age of 45 I learned to love winter. I began to see the sun as the closest star, shining brighter than all of summer. The ice glistening more radiantly than all the world’s sandy beaches. The cold, something not to avoid, but embrace– to dress for and then warm up in. As I watched my son create snow angels in the backyard I woke up to how closely the snow is to the look of our summer beaches. My sunglasses become a necessity. My lips are in need of moisture. My neighbor, also a doctor, explained it to me this way, “When we reach our menopausal age, we long for cold, not warmth. Our bodies produce enough warmth on their own.”

My love for winter began when we got our dog, for the children supposedly. But really it was for me. I figured how could I ever experience depression if there was always someone to care for, someone waiting to be loved. Surprisingly, the first 6 months of owning a dog are full of stress and self doubt – more work than a newborn but without that instinctive love.. The dog taught me how to appreciate the need to be walked every day. How to see the sticks on the ground as playful objects, not broken limbs. A daily walk in the outdoors, it turns out, is a necessity for humans as well as dogs.

There are always two voices within us. The voice, which I mostly listened to in my 20s and 30s, telling me whatever I did… it was not enough. It was less than I could do, less than my parents would hope I should do, less than someone famous I’d read about would do.

Then there is this other voice, more sweet and gentle than the other. It’s the voice I’m hearing now more clearly than ever before. It basically says, “Cut yourself some slack. Don’t demand more of yourself than that which feels good and comfortable, and forgive yourself all your “non successes”.  In Yoga my instructor says, “We approach yoga as we approach life.” And nothing could be closer to the truth. The days I’m angry and quitting in yoga are the days I am angry at myself and quitting at everything I begin. But the days I work to master a position, I know that will be a successful day.

The new inner voice says, “Stop thinking of what you could do, and learn to enjoy what you do, even if it seems uninspired. This is a big part of who you are. And the other part will struggle alongside like a shadow waiting to peek its creative head out every once in a while. The same Yoga teacher councils, “Don’t nibble through life. Decide what is important and take big bites. With that advice I finally saw with clarity that my children and husband, they are my big bite, and that will be my legacy.

 

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