a note on noticing

how I plan to get through the winter

first snow fall in edinburgh yesterday

My birthday is in June—my favorite month of the year because it signals the true beginning of summer. Growing up, I would have liked to live in a forever June. That is exactly why I moved to Barcelona at twenty-five. I wanted everything to be good all the time. 

I grew up in Michigan, where the weather was NOT good all the time. Michigan winters are frightfully cold and rather dark. Sometimes feet of snow locked us inside. What others found cozy, I found suffocating. I dreaded the winter every year.

My parents, on the other hand, loved all of the things I resented. My mom could be on the Michigan tourist board for the truly earnest delight with which I heard her exclaim, “I just love that we get all four seasons here!” I would roll my eyes and reply, “Well I only want one.” 

Now seven years after living in Michigan, I moved from Spain to Edinburgh a year and a half ago. Imagine my shock when I realized I had basically moved to European Michigan. (Kidding). Despite the obvious differences, both places have the same intellectualness that comes from being connected to a university (University of Michigan and University of Edinburgh, respectively), the small town feeling, the hardy-but-friendly people, but most of all, the weather.

Since moving to Edinburgh, I’ve come to deeply admire Scottish culture. I wholeheartedly adore the Scots’ hardiness, humor, and “get-on-with-it” attitude. Most of all, I’m awed by their reverence for the seasons. 

This way of being, I have learned, is an essential part of the culture. When you live in the elements, you cannot fight against them. You have to live with them.

In my work as a freelance style writer living in Scotland, I’ve had the gift of learning about Scotland’s cultural influence across domains–-in my case, namely fashion, interiors, and design. 

Last spring, I had the good fortune of attending a house party for Ostara, the pagan celebration of the Spring Equinox at Boath House. The event was hosted by Hugo MacDonald and James Stevens, the brilliant minds behind Bard, my favorite gallery and interiors shop in Edinburgh. 

As I wrote for Vogue, “The purpose of the 24-hour gathering was to bid farewell to winter and usher in the warmth of spring with fire, food, and festivities.”

Other than celebrating New Year’s Eve by writing resolutions, before this event I hadn’t thought much about rituals to acknowledge the changing of the seasons. 

As Hugo MacDonald said, “The more virtual our lives become, the more appealing it feels to reconnect with nature, weather, seasonal shifts, and thresholds.” I can attest he is correct.

“It feels invigorating to honor old celebrations with primal concerns, such as the return of light and warmth. Connections to each other and to ideas that are older than the internet are life-affirming and enlivening,” he continued.

The Scots have a rich history of folk tales, shared stories that explain why things are happening to us, and humor, the ability to infuse light even in the darkest. 

That day, we listened to folk tales and I wrote something on a scrap of paper that I burned in the bonfire. The next morning, I jumped in the ice cold firth and was immediately renewed. More than anything, I felt connected to an ancientness beyond myself.

The Scots’ respect for the seasons is obvious in their interiors as well. One of my favorite insights from reporting on the intersection of Scottish and Scandinavian design for Vogue was that the two place’s shared latitude (just across the ocean) and similar weather patterns precipitated the same need for comfortable interiors. Just as the Scandinavian have their cozy “hygge,” the Scots have “coorie.” 

As Banjo Beale and Alex Baxter so beautifully captured in their book, A Place in Scotland, there is a distinct and stunning style of interiors in Scotland that springs from embracing the elements. The Fair Isle strawback chairs or the cabin beds, seen in wee bothies and in luxury hotels like the Fife Arms, are two such examples.

Furniture was built to protect from any water that might slip in through the stone-clad buildings. A few of these buildings can be seen, gorgeously restored, at Killiehuntly Farmhouse. 

I still have much to learn about embracing whatever life throws at me and I’m glad that living in Scotland has allowed me to cross paths with many of the foremost thinkers on the topic. One such thinker is Rosie Steer of Everything Looks Rosie who I met at a workshop at TOAST earlier in the year.

Rosie is the author of Slow Seasons, a book inspired by her Scottish heritage that follows the Celtic Wheel of the Year, which is arranged around the Solstices and Equinoxes and their rough midpoints.

As Laura Pashby, author of ‘Little Stories of Your Life’ wrote about the book, “This is a reflective, inspiring guide to a life lived in harmony with the seasons.”

As I get older, I long for just this. Harmony. To not fight against my nature. 

Of all the learnings I have gleaned in these eighteen months in Scotland, the most impactful has been on how to actually embrace the elements.

As the sun sets earlier and earlier these days and other glimmers of winter start to appear, I don’t feel suffocated like I used to when I was younger. Instead, I see it as a wink, a little nudge from nature that I’m about to head into a new season full of its own unique wisdom.

When I notice and celebrate the small seasonal changes, I can realize that time is passing and not resent it.

Last Monday, I went to Gleneagles Townhouse, the gorgeously restored former bank building that I work from, and noticed that there was a roaring fire in the fireplace for the first time all year.

The next day, the Christmas decorations went up at The Dome (it’s widely agreed that they will always be the first of the season) and then the ferris wheel at the Christmas Market appeared. Like popcorn kernels popping over a stovetop, holiday decorations materialized in every corner of town.

I love that Edinburgh puts on its holiday best, wrapped in velvet bows and dotted with wreaths. The wholehearted embracement of winter is an admirable, and necessary, act for a place that has a seemingly endless winter. 

Last year, I found the decorations to be foreboding, a promise of the months of darkness to come. But this year, I didn’t feel even a tug of Scrooge.

I’m excited to slow down in this season, a luxury afforded to us in return for the 3:30pm sunset. In these months, I’m not going to try to make an artificial summer. Instead, I plan to hunker down, take some moments for reflection, and look to wise thinkers like Rosie Steer and others on seasonal rituals for this time of year.

Growing up, I wanted an exotic and exciting life with everything new and good. But now I see the joy in tradition and ritual. It is in the mundane that you can find the miraculous. 

Anxiety comes from disconnection, from wanting something different than what is. When I notice things as they are, I am grounded into time and space. I am able to notice the fireplace flickering, the new wreath cresting the door of the cafe, and the friend sporting a new haircut. It is in those moments that I feel part of a greater community, and wholly in my life. 

The gift that I’ve learned this year is how to appreciate the seasons, something my parents tried desperately to teach me when I was a little girl growing up in Michigan.

When I’m present and not wishing I was somewhere else, I am in the winter without longing for the summer. I am able to hold both the dark and the light in my hands and know that there is a reason for both.

Living in Scotland has taught me to embrace the distinct seasons, both in nature and of my own nature.