Hibernation, revisited:
Grace in the "not yet"
“A hibernation is a covert preparation for a more overt action.”
― Ralph Ellison
This week, every time I went to start typing a post, my body felt touchy like the flu. There’s too much to be with still, it seemed to be saying. Not yet.
So I’m giving myself grace in the not doing. And because the word hibernation has been coming up for me all week, I found myself drawn to read last year’s words at about this same season. I hope you might take something from them again (or for the first time) too.
I promise to be back next week with more, including from one of the strangest juxtapositions I’ve had between a soul-filling weekend and a soul-draining week.
From November 2023:
This year, I find myself internalizing seasonality more than I ever have; this particular turn from October to November, I’m considering joining the bears in hibernation.
I did try to share my two-year-old daughter’s childlike wonder around Halloween. I succeeded for at least thirty minutes. But surrounded by lifelike blow-up T-Rexes and impolite middle schoolers dressed as Baby Shark at a crowded Halloween street festival, I mostly found myself wishing I could sink into the pavement. Meanwhile, my husband David chatted just as easily with close friends as with people we hardly knew. I started to wonder if my dislike of Halloween is less about my discomfort with gore and more about my discomfort with the unfamiliar.
As this New York Times article observed, trick-or-treating is an embodied activity that involves interacting with real people out in the real world. That’s a rare thing these days—and a good one. But it also means interacting with strangers.
That’s part of why I like later seasonal holidays better. They involve close family and friends sitting around a table or in a living room. My comfort zone. Susan Cain writes in QUIET about how highly sensitive, introverted types struggle with small talk—especially when it isn’t preceded by deeper talk and connection.
Sometimes I am inspired to push outside my comfort zone, and other times I want to curl up into it. I think that’s okay. With book talks this summer and fall has come heartfelt sharing, but also a lot of small talk, and my battery is depleted. I think many of ours are. Because of the pandemic, these seasons have been more outward facing than they were for years.
So as I packed away my Halloween costume, I felt like packing myself away too. And I am giving myself permission to stretch into that feeling. Seasons may happen externally, but we can embrace them internally. And now feels like the time for heart, warmth, and meaning. For a hibernation of sorts.
That means more time curled up under blankets drinking hot water. Trusting that a season of cozy dreaming serves a purpose. That spring is better for it.