Miles to Go
We have arrived at the precipice of change: The darkest evening of the year.
Tomorrow, our slow crawl toward darkness over the last few months ends and we will start walking toward the light. Though, it will still be many more months before we leave darkness behind.
Winter has officially begun. While this is traditionally a time to turn inward, to shift our focus to stoking the fires of our homes and our selves, it can easily become a time of resignation; a time when, stopping here / To watch his woods fill up with snow, can shift from a moment of slowing into appreciation and peace to becoming frozen, to giving up on the possibility of change, to stop trying.
And yet, whether or not we choose to continue trying, things are always changing, often in predicable ways. The earth continues to orbit the sun and we have learned the cycle of the seasons. We have been (or will be) grandchildren and children and parents and grandparents; we have learned the cycle of a lifetime. We have been injured and heartbroken and sick; we have learned how to heal, to grow stronger, to persevere, even when The woods are lovely, dark and deep, inviting us to remain, to go numb, to stop trekking.
Right now, stopping is the most natural thing in the world. We need to slow down, to take in the lay of the land, to be in the silence. We need to acknowledge where we are and evaluate where we want (or need) to go.
Many of the people coming into my practice now have been struggling to maintain their healthy habits, even though they have experienced the benefits of doing so. They are exhausted and distracted and, in some cases, discouraged by the miles to go before…it becomes easier, lighter, warmer.
To take care of ourselves in this time of cold and dark, when our bodies are full of aches and craving carbs and sweets and just want to rest, is no easy task. We have promises to keep / And miles to go. The days are too short, the journey too long.
In winter, remembering the promises—not just to others or to obligations, but to ourselves—is how we can make the choice to continue, even when it's arduous, even when it's the middle of the night and there is still so much of the journey ahead.
Our promises are our whys. Our reasons for getting up in the morning, our reasons to continue to challenge ourselves to grow stronger, to keep walking toward longer days, even in the moments where it feels futile and needlessly hard.
While stopping is natural and needed, we must not stop in the cold for too long, letting ourselves become frozen in place. When we choose to prioritize tending to our own inner fires through exercise, eating well and sleeping enough—even if that means our to do list goes unfinished—we are building the strength and resilience for our journey, step by step.
This piece of writing was inspired by and quotes Robert Frost’s poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, included and linked below:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
