Surrendering to Winter Comforts

rest can still mean dancing at the club but in a chill way

Last year, I reinvented myself in January. I subverted the typical slowness of the winter by shifting my career, and frankly, going out a lot. More than I’m used to. I beat an extended depressive episode by leaning into hedonistic distractions.

I’m now mostly hibernating, a more culturally common pastime. And I finally understand why. Until now, I was not comfortable with quiet. Everyday I am now grateful for the beauty of the mundanities. I’ve remembered my real priorities: there are always more books to read, films to watch, and people to meet.

I haven’t quit social media but am instead experimenting with grayscale mode on phone to avoid using it as often. I don’t believe a life offline is the solution; I’ve met so many wonderful people on the internet over the years through algorithms that merge our shared interests. I aim to continue leveraging the digital world as a vessel for real life experiences.

Winter has been a calming time for small changes with noticeable impacts. For $99, I purchased new nightstands on Facebook Marketplace. My life is now organized with more storage space and my bedroom aesthetically feels like home. I now look forward to going to sleep.

I started the year by reading P.E. Moskowitz ’s book, Breaking Awake: My Search For A New Life Through Drugs.” In the aftermath of a near-death experience followed by a mental breakdown, Moskowitz explores how both prescription and illicit drugs aided their own healing while uncovering our national larger mental health and drug crises.

I can only attribute maintaining a mostly functional life these days to the drugs that keep me alive. As I squeeze my thigh and inject a life-saving prescribed medication, I feel no different from an addict. I used to feel isolated by my chronic illness but now find solace in how all humans suffer pain whether physical or mental. My privilege is what allows me to maintain a balance and I can’t place any blame on any addict with different circumstances.

Mostly, I’m grateful for community and the strength of embracing my authentic self. Moskowitz writes,

“The person I am today would be unrecognizable to my pre-breakdown self. This fact used to terrify me. Now I am glad. I am stronger, I am weirder, I am more conflicted, I am less readable, I am different, and that is good. The trauma itself has changed me, but so has the healing process—the drugs I used to find solace.”

Every year, I’m blessed with deeper and more profound connection. My life half a decade ago feels unrecognizable. I now have less patience for surface level connections and have accepted that not everyone is a 2 am type of friend. When I spend time with closest friends, sometimes I am genuinely scared that I will die from laughing too hard.

My friends are following different paths this year, but we share a sense of humor and a desire to chase meaning in our lives. Last month, I visited my first friend to embark on a pregnancy journey. She mentioned how her doctor asked if she had done psychedelics before, as tripping is psychologically helpful preparation for the altered state of consciousness of childbirth. This struck me, both that a medical professional openly discussed psychedelics and the implication that drugs could have a positive impact on motherhood. Apparently, most expecting mothers have not.

I had recently wondered why I am not afraid of death, as it just seems like a natural human experience. Morbidly, I wondered if experiencing my body shut down over a dozen anaphylaxis episodes has mentally prepared me for death. I’m glad that there are also positive transformative experiences that prepare us for other monumental milestones, especially the events society puts pressure on.

I recently joked that I don’t have seasonal depression because winter morning light saves my life every morning. Truth is, my body requires extra time for rest. Sitting on the couch and watching two movies in a day no longer feels sluggish but instead productive. I’m knocking off two items on my Letterboxd watchlist.

While I’m mostly taking it easy this winter, I went dancing the day after Christmas, the first day of a snowstorm. I arrived early, admiring the amount of space on the dancefloor to extend my limbs. While icy outside, this was the easiest way to accumulate 15,000 steps. Best of all, no phones were allowed on the dance floor.

Minutes before departing the club, a stranger bumped into me and spilled the entirety of their pungent whisky drink down my shirt. I felt it seep down my tube top, sheer mesh shirt underneath, and my bra. I hurried to the bathroom and as I looked in the mirror, a lemon wedge fell off my shirt and onto the tiled floor.

Despite typically a stubborn public transit devotee, I immediately called an Uber. I struggled to identify which car was mine, as all were covered in blankets of snow. Once seated and staring out the window, my alcohol-soaked disgust faded and I wished I could stay up all night wandering the untouched fresh snow.

The secret is to know when to “say yes” and when to “protect your peace.” Of course, everyone is different. These days, I never regret when I say yes, even when it results in a late night shower after a catastrophic club finale.