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Bookish Voyage, Houston, TX (2025)

10/28/2025

I was eight years old when my mother died.
For months after, I would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember exactly how her voice sounded. I'd cry into my pillow, whispering into the dark, wishing—aching—for just one more conversation. One more "I love you." One more chance to hear her call me for dinner, or sing me to sleep, or tell me everything would be okay. The episodes became less dramatic as I grew older. The tears came less often. But the longing? That never left. It just learned to live quietly inside me, a constant companion I carried into adulthood.

So when I saw The First Phone Call from Heaven by Mitch Albom on Audible, something in my chest tightened. The premise alone felt like it was written for the eight-year-old in me who still, decades later, craves my mother's voice more than anything else in this world. What if the phone rang, and it was her?

I had to know what Albom had to say about that impossible, beautiful wish. From the first chapter, I knew this book would undo me. The narration was soothing! As I listened, I found myself not just hearing a story, but living inside my own memories. Every page, a reflection of my deepest longings.

The entire experience was reflective in a way I didn't expect. I'd pause the audiobook and just sit there, thinking about my mother. About loss. About what I believe happens after death. About whether love really does transcend the grave, or if that's just something we tell ourselves to survive the unbearable weight of goodbye.

Albom's goal isn't to give you easy answers. He gives you space—space to feel, to question, to hope, to grieve all over again. The story takes place in Coldwater, Michigan—a small town thrown into chaos when residents begin receiving phone calls from deceased loved ones. Tess Rafferty hears from her mother. Katherine Yellin from her sister. Jack Sellers from his son. The voices are unmistakably theirs, speaking reassurances from heaven. The world watches as Coldwater becomes ground zero for either a miracle or a hoax.

At the center is Sullivan "Sully" Harding—a former pilot drowning in grief after losing his wife Giselle in a plane crash he was blamed for. While others receive calls from heaven, Sully hears only silence. Enraged and skeptical, he sets out to expose what he believes is a cruel fraud, only to discover truths that challenge everything he thought he knew about loss, faith, and love.

Here Are Five Truths That Stayed With Me As The Story Unfolded:

1. Grief is the price we pay for love—and we'd pay it again.
Watching Tess Rafferty clutch her phone, waiting for her mother Ruth's next call, I saw myself at eight years old, wishing for the same impossible thing. Albom captures how grief isn't just sadness—it's longing. It's the ache of wanting to reach across an impossible distance and touch someone who's no longer there.

Tess doesn't want to "move on." She wants her mother back. Jack Sellers doesn't want closure about his son Robbie. He wants to hear his boy's laugh again. Katherine Yellin finds herself transformed by conversations with her sister Diane, clinging to every word like a lifeline.

These characters taught me something I'd forgotten: we don't grieve people we didn't love deeply. The pain is proof of the love. And listening to their stories, I realized I'm not alone in that desperate, irrational wish to hear my mother's voice again. We grieve because we loved. And given the choice, we'd choose to love them all over again, even knowing how much it would hurt to lose them.

2. Faith doesn't require proof—it requires courage.
The townspeople of Coldwater are torn between belief and skepticism, and Albom shows how faith is less about certainty and more about trust. Katherine believes the calls are real because she needs to. Pastor Warren struggles because his entire theology is being tested in real-time—are these calls a blessing or a distraction from genuine faith?

And then there's Sully, who doubts because he's afraid of being hurt again. If heaven is calling people, why not him? Why hasn't Giselle called? His anger at God is palpable, raw, real.

But faith, Albom suggests, isn't about having evidence. It's about standing in the unknown and choosing hope anyway. It's Katherine believing even when others mock her. It's Elias Rowe finding forgiveness through calls from his deceased friend Nick Joseph, even when he can't explain how it's possible.

Listening to this book, I found myself asking: What do I believe? And am I brave enough to believe it even when I can't prove it?

3. Miracles don't unite us—they reveal us.
This was one of the most painful insights for me. When hope enters Coldwater, it doesn't bring people together—it tears them apart.

Some, like Tess and Jack, worship the miracle. They organize gatherings, share their experiences, become beacons of hope for others. Others attack it viciously, calling them delusional, accusing them of fraud. Media vultures descend on the town. Opportunists set up booths selling "heaven connection" merchandise. Churches overflow, but so do protests.

And in the middle is Sully, watching this circus with mounting fury. He sees how the calls are being exploited, how desperate people are being manipulated. His investigation reveals the machinery behind some of the deception, but it also reveals something more troubling: how quickly people abandon reason when they want to believe.

Both the believers and skeptics are driven by the same thing: fear. Fear of being wrong. Fear of losing control. Fear of hoping too much and being crushed when hope fails. The phone calls become a test—not of whether heaven is real, but of who we are when faced with something we can't explain.

4. Sometimes the miracle isn't the call—it's what the call makes you remember.
Albom weaves this idea so gently through the narrative that you almost don't notice it until it breaks you.

Tess doesn't just hear her mother's voice—she remembers her mother's love, her wisdom, the way Ruth made her feel safe in a chaotic world. The calls remind her of who her mother was, and in turn, who she became because of her mother.

Jack doesn't just talk to Robbie—he's reminded of what it felt like to be a father, to have purpose, to love someone more than himself. Before the calls, he was barely existing. After them, he's alive again, reconnected to the part of himself that Robbie brought out.

Katherine finds peace not just in Diane's words, but in the memories they unlock—summers together, shared secrets, the bond that made them more than sisters, made them best friends.

Even Sully, in his rage and investigation, is forced to remember Giselle—not just the trauma of losing her, but the beauty of having loved her. The calls—real or not—reconnect these people to something deeper than proof. They reconnect them to love.

And listening to this, I realized: I don't need a phone call from heaven to feel my mother's presence. She's already in me. In my choices. In my voice. In the way I love my own family. The miracle isn't in supernatural communication—it's in the fact that love changes us so profoundly that the people we've lost continue to shape who we are.

5. Love is the only thing death can't touch.
This is the truth that sits at the soul of the book, and it's the one that left me breathless.

Sully's entire arc is about learning this lesson. He spends the whole story searching for Giselle in phone calls and explanations, only to discover she's been with him all along—in his memories, in the values she taught him, in the way he loves their son Jules. His breakthrough comes not when he receives a call from heaven, but when he realizes that Giselle never left him. She lives in the man he became because of her.

Whether the calls in Coldwater are divine intervention or human deception doesn't ultimately matter. What matters is this: the people we love never truly leave us. They live in our memories, our habits, our hearts. Death ends a life, but it doesn't end a relationship. The bond remains. The love remains.

Tess will carry her mother's wisdom. Jack will carry his son's joy. Katherine will carry her sister's courage. And Sully will carry Giselle's love.
And that—that—is the real miracle.

Mitch Albom has created characters so vivid, so broken, so beautifully human that you'll see yourself in every one of them. Whether you're Tess, desperately clinging to hope, or Sully, furiously demanding answers, or Katherine, quietly finding peace in mystery—there's a place for you in this story.

If you've ever lost someone and found yourself wishing for the impossible, this book will meet you exactly where you are. It won't tell you what to believe. But it will hold space for your grief, your hope, your questions, and your faith.

BOOK: https://amzn.to/4qtPzVJ

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10/27/2025

For two years after my father passed, my mother’s house stood frozen in time. Every surface was a museum exhibit of a life lived—and a life lost. We were drowning in memories made physical, and the weight of it all was suffocating. The thought of sorting through it was so overwhelming that we simply… didn’t.

Then, a friend recommended Matt Paxton’s Keep the Memories, Lose the Stuff. Paxton isn’t just an organizer; he’s a storyteller who specializes in life transitions. His book taught me that we weren’t just dealing with clutter; we were navigating grief, and that required a different kind of tool.

Lesson 1: You’re Not Sorting Trash, You’re Curating a Legacy
The Story: I stood in my father’s study, holding a dusty shoebox full of old pay stubs from 1987. My instinct was to feel guilty for even considering throwing them out. Paxton reframed the entire task: “You are the curator of your family’s museum, not the janitor of their junk.” My job wasn’t to keep everything, but to select the most important artifacts that told the true story of my parents’ lives.

The Lesson: Change your identity from “thrower-outer” to “curator.” This isn’t about disposal; it’s about preservation. Your goal is to distill a lifetime into a meaningful, manageable collection that honors the person, not the pile.

Lesson 2: The “Five Second Rule” for Letting Go
The Story: I would pick up an item—a chipped vase, a faded shirt—and get lost in a vortex of memory, unable to decide. Paxton’s rule is brutal but effective: If you can’t name a specific, positive memory connected to the item in five seconds, let it go. The chipped vase? I stared at it. I remembered buying it at a garage sale, but no specific joy came to mind. Into the donation box it went.

The Lesson: Sentimentality is the enemy of progress. If an object doesn’t instantly spark a clear, happy memory, its purpose has been served. Thank it for its service and release it.

Lesson 3: Take a Picture, Keep the Memory, Lose the Object
The Story: In the attic, we found a towering, lopsided clay ashtray I made in second grade. It was objectively hideous and had never been used. My mom had kept it for 30 years out of love. Instead of keeping the physical object, we took a funny, loving photo of me holding it. We told the story of making it, we laughed, and then we let the ashtray go. The memory was perfectly preserved, without the dust.

The Lesson: The memory is not in the object. The object is a trigger. By taking a photo, you capture the memory and free yourself from the physical burden. Create a “digital memory box” for these items.

Lesson 4: The “Keep, Give, Trash” Boxes are a Lie
The Story: I set up the classic three boxes. They failed miserably because I needed a fourth: the “Not My Story” box. We found my grandmother’s extensive collection of porcelain dolls. They meant nothing to me, but I felt guilty. Paxton gave me permission to acknowledge that they were not part of my story. I offered them to a cousin who loved them, freeing myself from the emotional weight.

The Lesson: You are not obligated to inherit someone else’s passions. Create a “Not My Story” pile for items that are meaningful to the family legacy but not to you personally. Find them a new home within the family or sell/donate them without guilt.

Lesson 5: Start with the Easy Stuff to Build Momentum
The Story: I started with the photo albums and was immediately paralyzed by grief. Paxton’s advice: Start with the non-sentimental, practical areas. I began with the laundry room and the kitchen pantry. Throwing out expired detergent and old spices was easy, decision-wise. Each bag I carried out built my confidence and momentum to tackle the harder, emotional spaces.

The Lesson: Don’t start with the heart of the home. Start with the utility closet, the garage, the linen cupboard. Quick wins build the emotional muscle you need for the bigger battles.

Lesson 6: Honor the “Dailies” to Understand the “Legacies”
The Story: As we sorted, I found my dad’s favorite coffee mug, worn and chipped. Next to it was a signed baseball in a case. The mug brought me to tears; the baseball was just a fact. Paxton teaches that the “dailies”—the worn-out chair, the favorite pen, the everyday coffee mug—often hold more emotional truth than the formal “treasures.”

The Lesson: Pay attention to what hurts to let go. The items that show the wear and tear of a life well-lived are often the most sacred. Keep one or two of these “dailies” over the pristine, never-used heirlooms. They tell the real story.

Lesson 7: The Goal is to Move Forward, Not Just Move On
The Story: When we were finally done, the house was empty, ready for a new family. It was bittersweet. But we had created a single, curated “Legacy Box” for each of my parents. Inside were their love letters, my dad’s watch, my mom’s favorite scarf, and the photo of the clay ashtray. We hadn’t erased them; we had distilled them. We could now remember them with joy, not be burdened by their stuff.

The Lesson: Decluttering after a loss isn’t about forgetting. It’s about creating a space—both physically and emotionally—to honor the past while finally allowing yourself to move forward into your own future. The stuff was holding us in place. Letting it go was the first step toward healing.

Today, the Legacy Boxes sit on a shelf in my own home. I can open them when I want to feel close to my parents, and close them when I need to live my own life. The weight is gone.

Keep the Memories, Lose the Stuff taught me that our loved ones live on in our hearts and stories, not in their possessions. Freeing ourselves from the physical clutter wasn’t an act of disrespect; it was the ultimate act of love—for them, and for ourselves.

AUDIOBOOK: https://amzn.to/4ohOHlW

You can also get the book and Kindle by using the same link.

10/27/2025

What do you do when the natural rhythm of life slows down, when the world demands pause, and when your personal circumstances—be it illness, burnout, or loss—force you into an emotional state of retreat? Katherine May’s Wintering is a quiet, profound meditation on those fallow periods of life, arguing that the cultural pressure to maintain perpetual productivity and cheerfulness is deeply damaging. May explores the idea that "wintering" is not merely a difficult season to be endured, but a necessary, restorative, and even beautiful phase of human existence. By drawing wisdom from nature, mythology, and history, she teaches us how to honor the need for retreat, embrace stillness, and emerge renewed, not fixed.

Wintering is a blend of memoir, cultural commentary, and nature writing, sparked by May’s own experience of unexpected illness and her husband's sudden health crisis, which forced her to step away from her routine life. May travels, reads, and reflects on how other cultures and natural phenomena—from the darkness of the Arctic Circle to the quiet dormancy of hibernating bears—deal with periods of rest and inactivity. She critiques the modern Western aversion to stagnation and slowness, asserting that true healing requires a radical acceptance of the dark, cold moments of life. Her core argument is that wintering is a cyclical, unavoidable process—a time for reflection, nourishment, and quiet self-tending—that we must learn to welcome rather than resist.

10 Key Takeaways: Principles for Embracing Retreat

1. Wintering is a Season: Recognize that wintering is a natural, cyclical phase of life, not a moral failure or a temporary lapse in productivity. It is as necessary as summer growth.

2. Accept the Slowness: The primary task of wintering is to radically accept the slowness and stillness it imposes. Stop fighting the decline and let go of the pressure to perform.

3. Nature as Teacher: Look to the natural world (hibernation, leaf fall, long nights) for wisdom on how to endure and find value in quiet dormancy.

4. Embrace the Darkness: Avoid the urge to paper over your difficult emotions with false cheerfulness. Sit in the difficult feelings and allow them to offer their lessons.

5. The Need for Retreat: When wintering, you must actively create physical and emotional distance from the demands of the outer world. Seek solitude and reduce social commitments.

6. Honoring the Rituals of Cold: Reclaim ancient or cultural rituals associated with the cold and darkness (like saunas, warm drinks, or reading by the fire) as sources of deep, simple comfort.

7. Don't Rush the Thaw: Understand that the end of wintering cannot be forced. You will emerge when you are ready, and rushing the process only leads to fragile, temporary recovery.

8. Nourishment, Not Achievement: Shift your focus entirely from external achievement to internal nourishment—prioritizing rest, gentle movement, nourishing food, and quiet reflection.

9. Wintering is Unavoidable: Acknowledge that everyone will experience deep, disruptive wintering periods due to circumstances like grief, illness, divorce, or burnout. Preparation is acceptance.

10. The Gift of Invisibility: Use the period of retreat to be emotionally invisible. Let go of the need to explain your process to others, and use the quiet time to reconnect with your most essential self.

BOOK: https://amzn.to/4o9cN23

You can ENJOY the AUDIOBOOK for FREE (When you register for Audible Membership Trial) using the same link above.

10/27/2025

Perfection is the silent killer of creativity. Too often, we wait for the “right moment,” the “perfect plan,” or the “best version” — and in doing so, we never begin. The truth is, creation comes first, refinement comes later. You can’t edit what doesn’t exist.

The greats didn’t start with masterpieces — they started with messy drafts, rough sketches, and failed attempts. Progress is born from movement, not hesitation.

10/25/2025

Here are 10 valuable lessons from the book "The Courage to Be Disliked: How to Free Yourself and Change Your Life" by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga:

1. The importance of taking responsibility for our own lives and choices: The book emphasizes the importance of taking responsibility for our own lives and choices, rather than blaming others or circumstances.

2. The need to let go of the need for validation and approval from others: Kishimi and Koga argue that we need to let go of the need for validation and approval from others, and instead focus on our own values and goals.

3. The value of being true to ourselves and living authentically: The book emphasizes the importance of being true to ourselves and living authentically, rather than trying to conform to societal norms or expectations.

4. The importance of embracing our uniqueness and individuality: Kishimi and Koga stress the importance of embracing our uniqueness and individuality, rather than trying to fit in or be like others.

5. The need to develop a growth mindset and be open to learning and change: The book emphasizes the importance of developing a growth mindset and being open to learning and change, rather than being rigid or fixed in our thinking.

6. The value of focusing on the present moment and letting go of past regrets or future anxieties: Kishimi and Koga argue that we should focus on the present moment and let go of past regrets or future anxieties, which can hold us back from living fully.

7. The importance of setting boundaries and prioritizing our own needs and desires: The book emphasizes the importance of setting boundaries and prioritizing our own needs and desires, rather than trying to please others or meet their expectations.

8. The need to let go of the need for perfection and accept our imperfections: Kishimi and Koga argue that we need to let go of the need for perfection and accept our imperfections, which can help us to live more authentically and freely.

9. The value of developing self-awareness and understanding our own thoughts and emotions: The book emphasizes the importance of developing self-awareness and understanding our own thoughts and emotions, which can help us to make better choices and live more intentionally.

10. The importance of taking action and making decisions, even in the face of uncertainty or fear: Kishimi and Koga stress the importance of taking action and making decisions, even in the face of uncertainty or fear, which can help us to build confidence and live more courageously.

Additional takeaways:

- The importance of recognizing that our thoughts and emotions are not necessarily reflective of reality: The book emphasizes the importance of recognizing that our thoughts and emotions are not necessarily reflective of reality, and that we should not let them control our actions or decisions.

- The value of developing a sense of curiosity and wonder, and being open to new experiences and learning: Kishimi and Koga argue that developing a sense of curiosity and wonder can help us to live more fully and authentically.

- The importance of recognizing that we are not alone in our struggles and imperfections, and that everyone faces challenges and uncertainties: The book emphasizes the importance of recognizing that we are not alone in our struggles and imperfections, and that everyone faces challenges and uncertainties.

Get Book: https://amzn.to/3WqhLLA

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10/24/2025

Throughout this week, each time I searched for a book recommendation, The Art of Spending Money by Morgan Housel kept popping up. So, I finally decided to read it and see what the hype was about. Honestly, the table of contents alone changed me. Before even diving into the first chapter, I found myself pausing, reflecting, realizing that this wasn’t just another book about personal finance or budgeting. It was about life, values, and the invisible stories we tell ourselves through the way we spend.

Morgan Housel doesn’t talk about money as numbers on a spreadsheet; he talks about it as a mirror of who we are. Each chapter feels like a quiet conversation that forces you to ask uncomfortable but necessary questions: What does “enough” mean to me? Why do I spend the way I do? What am I really trying to buy, comfort, control, or validation?

Key Lessons from The Art of Spending Money:

1. Money is emotional, not logical.
Most of our financial choices are stories we tell ourselves about security, identity, and belonging. Until we face those stories, no amount of budgeting will bring peace.

2. “Enough” is the richest word in finance.
Defining what “enough” looks like for you, emotionally and materially is one of the most freeing acts of self-knowledge.

3. Spending reveals values.
Every purchase is a statement of what you prioritize. When you spend mindfully, your money becomes a tool for alignment, not distraction.

4. Comparison is financial poison.
Someone will always have more. The only wealth that truly counts is the ability to live life on your own terms.

5. Happiness doesn’t scale with income.
Beyond a certain point, joy comes from time, autonomy, and purpose, not from the next upgrade.

6. Good spending is an art, not a formula.
There’s no one-size-fits-all rule. It’s about designing a relationship with money that supports the life you actually want, not the one others expect.

If you’ve ever felt uneasy about your spending habits, or if you’re tired of equating success with accumulation, The Art of Spending Money is a quiet, transformative read. It doesn’t shame you, it wakes you up.

Get Book Here: https://amzn.to/4hmF2Yi

10/23/2025

When my mother passed away, I inherited her house. Not in the glamorous way that implies wealth or legacy—no, I inherited her things. Boxes of papers, expired spices, broken jewelry she swore she’d fix, VHS tapes of weddings no one remembers, letters from people who no longer exist.

For months, I walked past a drawer in her bedroom. The bottom drawer. The heavy one that stuck every time you tried to open it. I knew what was inside: folded tissues, an envelope of teeth (yes, baby teeth), and receipts so faded they looked like ghost stories. I kept it closed. I couldn’t face it. Not because it was messy—but because it meant facing the parts of her life that no one else wanted. Not even me.

Then I read Nobody Wants Your S*t* by Messie Condo, I would'mt say its intentional but it was just the next book on my list to read.

Messie Condo (yes, a satirical nod to Marie Kondo), with brutal honesty and a darkly comedic edge, doesn’t just offer a manual for decluttering—she offers a reckoning. This isn’t a book about minimalism. It’s a mirror. And once you look into it, you may never see your stuff—or your legacy—the same way again.

7 Lessons I Learned from "Nobody Wants Your Sh*t"

1. Your Sentimental Is Someone Else’s Burden

Condo opens with a jarring truth: what we treasure, others dread. That snow globe from your honeymoon? Your kids won’t want it. The hundred birthday cards? They’ll trash them after reading one. We hoard memory in objects, believing they hold us together. But when we’re gone, they’re just…objects. This hit hard when I tried to give my niece my mother's vintage jewelry box—and she asked if it smelled weird.

2. You Are Not Your Stuff

We confuse identity with accumulation. Condo reminds us we aren’t the books we own, the coats in our closet, or the furniture we inherited. We are the stories we tell, the love we give, the time we share. Letting go of my mother’s furniture felt like erasing her. But keeping it felt like freezing her in time. I learned to choose memory over material.

3. Decluttering Is an Act of Love

Messie reframes decluttering not as a chore, but as a gift. A way to prevent your loved ones from facing what she calls the “grief landfill.” I remember holding my mother’s broken alarm clock and thinking: She thought someone would fix this. She wanted to be remembered for her intention, but left only a project. Clearing that out was painful—but it felt like love. Deep, protective, backward love.

4. Guilt Is Not a Good Reason to Keep Things

Guilt is a terrible interior designer. That ugly vase your cousin gave you? Donate it. The dress you never wore? Let it go. Condo gives you permission to release guilt—especially the guilt of keeping things “just in case.” I had boxes labeled “Maybe.” After reading this book, I renamed them “No.”

5. Your Stuff Tells a Story—Choose the Ending

Each item you keep adds a line to the story people will read when you're gone. Messie asks, Is that the story you want to tell? That shook me. I started asking, “What does this say about me?” when I looked at clutter. I let go of the boxes of awards from a career I left a decade ago. I kept the worn-out sneakers I wore when I first ran a 5K after cancer treatment. That’s the story I want them to know.

6. Death Is Not an If, It’s a When

Condo doesn’t sugarcoat it. You will die. Someone will clean up after you. Avoiding that truth doesn’t make it go away—it makes it worse. This chapter was sobering. I cried. I had to sit down and ask: If I died tomorrow, what would my home say about me? That question changed my life. And my closet.

7. Decluttering Isn’t Just for the Dying—It’s for the Living

The title is provocative, but the book is about living better now. It’s about space—for joy, for clarity, for meaning. I didn’t just clean out my mother’s drawer. I cleaned my own. I gave away what didn’t light me up. I digitized the photos. I wrote notes on family heirlooms so my nieces would know why I kept them. I breathed. My home feels lighter. So do I.

After finishing Nobody Wants Your S*t*, I opened that bottom drawer.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t laugh. I just started letting go. Some things I kept—a note in her handwriting, a strand of pearls, a list of baby names she never used. The rest? I released. Because she wasn’t in the drawer. She’s in me.

Messie Condo’s book isn’t just about stuff. It’s about legacy, mortality, humor, and forgiveness. It’s for anyone who’s ever held something in their hand and whispered, I don’t know what to do with this.

Now I do. You will too.

Book: https://amzn.to/48Jgfvu

Audiobook also available using the link above.

10/23/2025

That moment arrives, unbidden, like the first unexpected chill in the air—that sudden, dizzying awareness that the pace of life is unsustainable, that your reserves are depleted, and that the external world demands more than you have left to give. That the only way forward is to stop, withdraw, and wait for the thaw. That’s the state I was in when I opened Katherine May's Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times.

May’s book isn't a manual for fixing yourself; it’s an elegant, quiet argument for embracing the fallow times—the seasons of emotional, physical, or professional exhaustion brought on by life's unavoidable setbacks, be they illness, job loss, divorce, or depression. Blending memoir, nature writing, and cultural history, May defines "wintering" as the necessary period of rest and healing that occurs when life forces a halt. She doesn't suggest resisting the darkness, but rather learning to live within its deep rhythm.

Every page is a paradox, both deeply comforting and intensely challenging, melancholic in its subject yet ultimately hopeful in its message.

Wintering is a reflective memoir and philosophical inquiry into the concept of retreat and rest as a cyclical necessity in human life. Katherine May uses her own experience of an unexpected illness, her husband’s collapse, and a subsequent emotional burnout as the starting point for a journey into the history and practice of "wintering." She explores how different cultures and species embrace the dark, slow, and restorative periods—from observing the hibernation of animals and the stillness of the Arctic to examining historical retreats like the Finnish concept of sisu. The central message is that wintering is not a sign of failure but a natural, essential phase of self-preservation and growth. By accepting these periods of retreat, rather than fighting them, we allow ourselves to heal, learn, and emerge stronger and more aware when spring inevitably returns.

10 Detailed Key Lessons and Insights

1. Wintering Is a Necessary Cycle, Not an Accident: The primary lesson is that wintering is not a failure, but a non-negotiable, recurrent phase of human existence, mirroring the natural world's need for hibernation and rest. By resisting the urge to be productive during these dark times, we acknowledge our own cyclical nature and prevent burnout.

2. Embrace the Fallow Time: May champions the idea of the "fallow period," a concept borrowed from farming where land is deliberately left unplanted to restore nutrients. Emotionally, this means allowing a space of inactivity and silence, recognizing that the most crucial work of healing and restructuring the self often happens when we appear to be doing nothing.

3. The Mythology of Perpetual Summer is Damaging: Modern Western culture promotes an unrealistic ideal of constant productivity, happiness, and growth (perpetual summer). The book critiques this ethos, arguing that it creates immense psychological pressure and makes people feel ashamed or inadequate when they inevitably hit a "wintering" phase.

4. Listen to the Body's Halt Signal: Wintering is often forced upon us through physical illness or emotional collapse—a clear signal from the body that the current way of living is unsustainable. The insight is to treat these involuntary stops not as an inconvenience to be hurried past, but as a mandatory rest command from the self.

5. The Importance of Ritual and Routine in Retreat: While wintering involves withdrawal, it doesn't mean becoming formless. May highlights the comfort found in simple, repetitive rituals—like making tea, reading, or watching the sea—which anchor the self during periods of internal chaos and provide predictable boundaries.

6. Find Comfort in the Outer Cold: May finds solace in the physicality of cold and darkness (such as swimming in cold water or visiting the Arctic). This external rigor provides a mirror to internal suffering, showing that difficult, cold, and slow environments can still contain stark beauty and an enduring reality that transcends personal sadness.

7. The Transformative Power of Story and Myth: Drawing on stories like the myth of the sleeping bear, May shows how cultural narratives can provide a framework for understanding and validating our own periods of retreat. Recognizing our personal wintering as a chapter in an ancient, universal story diminishes its isolation and fear.

8. Wintering Leads to Unseen Growth: The necessary darkness of a wintering period is where crucial, subterranean change occurs. Like seeds germinating beneath the frost, internal resources, wisdom, and strength are slowly accrued and restructured so that when spring arrives, the emergence is authentic and powerful.

9. Vulnerability is Connection: By sharing her personal story of sudden collapse and slow withdrawal, May demonstrates that vulnerability is the key to connection. Acknowledging her own need to stop and rest made her more relatable and connected to the world's cyclical nature, not less.

10. The Gift of Solitude Over Isolation: Wintering involves a move toward solitude—a deliberate, mindful withdrawal—which is distinct from painful isolation. Solitude provides the essential quiet and separation needed to hear the self, process pain, and integrate losses without the noise of external demands.

I didn't close Wintering with any less awareness of life's painful setbacks. But I did feel something profound shift—a recognition that the shadows are not to be feared, but entered. It’s not a comforting book in the traditional sense. It's an instruction in stillness. And sometimes, stillness—patient, deep, and without expectation—is the only way to generate the heat we need to carry on.

BOOK: https://amzn.to/47BNVtM

You can ENJOY the AUDIOBOOK for FREE (When you register for Audible Membership Trial) using the same link above.

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