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Learning to Love Winter: A Nordic Way of Seeing the Season
For years, I thought of winter as something to endure. Short days and grey skies. The damp chill that seemed to creep into my bones, no matter how many layers I wore. Like so many others, I counted down the weeks until spring would rescue me. Winter was the enemy, and I braced myself against it with gritted teeth.
Then I moved north to Norway.
In Norway, winter isn't spoken of with dread. It is spoken of with affection, even pride.
People lean into the season rather than fighting it. They walk in the snow every day, wrapped in wool. They light candles at breakfast, not just on special occasions. They don't see the darkness as something to be feared, but as something to be softened, with firelight, with comfort and with rest.
At first, I resisted. I clung to my old belief that winter was an inconvenience, a disruption to the life I wanted to be living. I missed the longer days, the warmth of the sun and the feeling that there was always time to do one more thing.
But slowly, something shifted.
One December morning, I sat with a cup of hot coffee by the window. Outside, the snow muffled the world. The trees stood quietly beneath their white covering, and a single candle flickered beside me. There was nowhere I needed to rush to, nothing that demanded my immediate attention.
For the first time in my life, I felt not trapped by winter, but a part of it. I realised then: winter was not my enemy. It was an invitation. An invitation to slow down. To rest and to listen. To notice the small, ordinary pleasures I had hurried past before. To see beauty where I had only seen bleakness.
A New Way of Seeing
The shift wasn't instant. It came through small, almost invisible changes. Nothing dramatic, no grand resolution to become a different person. Just little adjustments to the way I approached my days.
Pulling on wool socks before sunrise and noticing their cosiness. Making my morning coffee slowly, rather than drinking it while rushing through a list of tasks. Taking a short walk each afternoon or evening, even when the air was cold and the sky already beginning to darken.
I began to appreciate the particular beauty of winter light. Those pale hours when the sun sits low on the horizon, turning the fields golden before slipping away again. The delicate patterns of frost on a window. The sound of snow beneath my boots.
I found comfort in cooking root vegetables slowly, allowing the kitchen to fill with the warmth and smell of a simple meal. Carrots, potatoes, swedes and parsnips, humble ingredients that remind us that nourishment can come from the quiet things growing underground.
And then there were the candles.
Lighting a candle as daylight faded became a small ritual. Not an attempt to banish the darkness, but a way of creating a gentle partnership with it. The room would soften, the evening would begin, and I no longer felt that I had to squeeze every last drop of productivity out of the day.
These were not grand gestures. But little by little, they transformed the way I lived the season.
Making Room for Winter
One of the things I have come to understand about Nordic living is that it isn't necessarily about doing more. Sometimes, it is about allowing ourselves to do less.
We live in a world that encourages us to keep moving, keep achieving, keep filling every available hour. Even our leisure time can become another thing to organise and optimise.
Winter offers another possibility.
Perhaps the early darkness can become an excuse to close the laptop a little earlier. Perhaps a quiet evening at home, with a good book and something warm to drink, can be enough. Perhaps we don't need to apologise for wanting a slower pace when the days are short and the weather is cold.
Of course, winter isn't always cosy. It can be difficult, particularly when the darkness feels relentless or the cold makes everyday life harder. Nor does lighting candles or wearing wool solve everything. Some winters require extra care, support and attention to our wellbeing.
But I have found that small comforts, repeated gently, can make a difference.
What If You Tried It, Too?
What if, instead of asking, How do I get through this?, you asked:
How can winter support me?
What is this season asking of me?
Where is the hidden beauty in this day, right now?
Perhaps it is in the stillness of a frosted morning. Perhaps it is in the laughter that rises when you gather in close around a table. Perhaps it is in the quiet permission to rest, without feeling that you should be doing something else.
You don't need to live in Norway to welcome a little of this Nordic way of seeing. You don't need snow outside your window, a wood-burning stove or a perfectly cosy home. You can begin wherever you are, with whatever you have. A warm pair of socks. A winter walk. A pot of soup. A candle at supper. A moment spent looking out of the window rather than reaching for your phone.
An Invitation
This winter, I want to share what I have learned: that winter is not a punishment, and it does not have to be our enemy.
It is a teacher and a companion, a season waiting to be welcomed in its own way.
Over the next few weeks, I'll be sharing more about the Nordic-inspired practices that have transformed my winters, from lighting and food to outdoor rituals and the art of true rest.
I hope you'll come with me on this journey.
Perhaps together, we'll discover that the cold months are not something to survive, but something to live through fully, gently and with a little more joy. And perhaps, when spring finally arrives, we'll greet it not as a rescue, but as another beautiful beginning. beautifully, and well.
A Little More Winter Inspiration Is on Its Way ❄️ 🩵
My love for winter has inspired me to write a new book, filled with Nordic wisdom, gentle rituals and practical ideas to help you embrace the colder months and find more joy in the season.
If you'd like to be among the first to know when "The Nordic Art of Wintering" is released, I'd love you to join my list.
A little more warmth, a little more wonder, and a gentler way to live through winter. I can't wait to share it with you.
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