Embracing the Predictable; Three Ideas for Welcoming Seasonal Flow
Rather than trying to subvert the change of the season, we’re better served by welcoming the change, and flowing with
Seasonal Change
We’re stepping out of autumn and into winter in New Zealand, where I live. Even in late autumn, the mornings are clear, crisp, and frosty, and as the day unfolds, the temperature rises to a comfortable level — not too cold, definitely not too hot.
Autumn is my favourite season of the year. I love the blend of winter and summer; cold mornings, warm afternoons. I love the colour of the vista, the yellows, oranges, and reds of the deciduous mixed in with the green of the evergreens. I love the long, languid light of the twilight.
In some ways, I think of autumn as the season that defines seasonal change. The changes that occur in autumn are, at times, quite jarring. The first frost. The trees losing their covering. The shortening days. The changes are so visually and experientially apparent.
Seasonal Flow
At the beginning of this calendar year, as part of the usual New Year reflections and intentions, I decided to try and live the year ahead with more of an intention of seasonal attunement.
The idea is to lean into the change of the seasons, and to flow with the seasons, rather than to try an overpower and negate the seasonal changes, as we are so prone to do.
In many ways, the seasonal flow experiment is akin to a Slow Living kind of approach to life. Slow Seasonal Living, as it turns out, is a thing.
Upon further research, I found that slow seasonal living is a lifestyle philosophy that encourages the embrace of the natural rhythms of the seasons. It calls for a more mindful, simple, and intimate connection with the world at large. It’s an invitation to slow down and savour the unique experiences and opportunities that each season brings.
Central to the concept of slow seasonal living is being fully present and attentive to the sights, sounds, and sensations of the current season; cultivating a fresh awareness of the subtle changes occurring in nature, from the emergence of new growth in the spring to the quiet stillness of winter’s embrace.
One of the benefits of tuning into the seasonal shifts is a greater sense of gratitude for the abundance and beauty that occurs in every day, and finding joy in the simple pleasures of everyday life.
Slow seasonal living encourages a more intentional approach to daily activities and routines, developing a deeper sense of connection with the earth and its cycles, fostering a more sustainable and harmonious way of life.
The philosophy highlights the importance of slowing down and simplifying the pace of life, especially in a world that often champions and expects busyness and constant productivity. A slower, more deliberate pace of life creates space for rest, reflection, and rejuvenation. It allows for a full immersion in the richness of each season.
Dominating vs Embracing
Generally, the first-world response to seasonal change, especially the flow out of the hotter seasons and into winter, is to pretend as much as possible that it isn’t happening.
We’ve created conveniences to ride the winter out, while still being able to be productive and busy. Instead of connecting with winter flow and taking more of a hibernation approach, we crank up the heating, set our alarms, and moan about the length of the day being too short for what we want to squeeze into the available daylight.
Our striving to overcome seasonal change and keep life smooth and consistent is a manifestation of our usual response to external change in general.
The tension between our expectation of life and the reality of the season is cause for resentment and unhappiness. We can’t control the season flow, despite our attempts to. Wishing for a warm beach while it’s slowing is a recipe for discontent.
Scott Young, author of Ultralearning, says that a major philosophical tension in the pursuit of happiness is the conflict between accepting things as they are and striving to change them for the better. He points to a third way: accepting the broadly unchangeable factors of life while seeking to make the most of the things under our control.
Seasonal change is a great allegory for this phenom.
Each stage of life is a season that affords some possibilities and constrains others. Young reminds us that happiness is largely about maximizing the opportunities afforded by the current stage of life, and findings ways to contain the despairing of the constraints.
What Does it Take to Embrace Seasonal Change?
What I’m learning about embracing seasonal change, and trying to live with more seasonal flow, is that it isn’t a case of just letting go. It’s not about throwing my hands up an taking an it-is-what-it-is attitude.
Instead, like leaning into any change, it takes a mix of intention, investment, and involvement.
1. Intention. Intention is both a precursor to and a product of attention. In the context of seasonal flow, intention flows from paying attention to the slow creep of the season — predicting the inevitability of the change, and knowing that the change will occur.
The intentional aspect of the leaning into the seasonal flow is shifting from a mindless, automatic stumble to a way of being that mindfully accepts the opportunities and constraints that each of the seasons presents.
Autumn presents the opportunity to prepare for winter. In past, simpler times, it was about gathering the harvest, preparing the stores and supplies, and tending to the land and home in preparation for colder, shorter, wetter days.
In a modern context, autumn represents more of a constraint. Frost mornings mean a period of inconvenience before starting the morning commute, as we mumble and curse our way through scraping ice of the windscreen. Fallen leaves ask us to reach for rakes and leaf blowers to maintain our well-manicured gardens and driveways. Shorter days mean walking the dogs in the dark, because we don’t adjust the rest of the day to accommodate for reduce daylight.
An intentional adjustment to the flow of the day would mean that we better accommodate these constraints, rather than rail against them. We accept the seasons change for what it is, rather than view it as an inconvenience.
2. Investment. My next-door neighbours have a beautifully groomed garden. Every aspect is painstakingly manicured and is an obvious labour of love. Each autumn, they bring in a contractor to help winterise the garden, a job that takes two to three full days of work. Trees are trimmed, bushes are shaped. Annuals are removed, perennials are pruned, and frost cloths are applied, ready for the frosty mornings.
Their garden is prepared to weather the weather. Their investment is protected by further investment. Preparation is, in itself, an investment. Preparation for the predictable is a sound investment.
Sometimes that preparation is financial and physical. It’s having the wherewithal to winterise. It’s having the tools and apparatus on hand to best address the season ahead.
The reality is that all physical preparation is a manifestation of mental and emotional preparation. This is where the real investment begins. The commitment that comes from the emotional investment in change, whether that’s seasonal change, or the predictable changes of life, leads to the physical investment required to actually embrace those changes.
3. Involvement. Intention and investment are nothing without involvement.
Involvement is a product of the relationship between investment and intention. Both components are essential and mutually reinforcing, causing us to commit more deeply to the outcome, whether that’s maintaining a beautiful garden, or simply being less adversely affected by the predictable changes that the seasons bring.
The synergy between investment and intention creates a virtuous cycle of involvement, but also requires involvement for the investment to pay dividends, and the intention to become reality.
High levels of investment reinforce and validate our intentions, while strong intentions justify and sustain continued investment. This dynamic, beautiful interplay ensures that involvement is not a passive state, but an active and life-giving process.
This active kind of involvement is what enables presence, and the ability to truly sit with the moment, comfortably with what the moment brings.
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As I step into Winter, and Autumn departs, her work beautifully complete, I wonder how much seasonal flow I’ve actually embraced, and how much I’m still trying to rail against the changes and pretend that life could / should go on unchanged, just maybe less convenient.
I think I still have much to learn about slow seasonal living.
Let’s see what Spring brings.
