hello gentle friends,
Chilly nights and crisp days put me in a back-to-school mood. I love the energy of fall. I want to start new projects, get my life organized, make plans. I also know that as the days in the northern hemisphere get short, I’ll go through a season of languishing. It doesn’t happen every year, but it happens enough that it isn’t surprising. Sure, languishing can creep up on us at any time — after a major life change, a long-fought-for accomplishment, or for no apparent reason whatsoever — but I think there is something about the colder, darker months that invites a touch of melancholy and introspection.
We all know what it’s like to languish. You don’t feel like doing much and everything seems harder than it “should.” And while languishing may not feel great, it’s normal and necessary. Those periods of sensing the darker shades of life give us a fuller experience of being human and remind us of the pleasure of sunshine.
There was a time when I fought my languishing, but the more fully I follow the path of living gently, the more space I’m finding to accept, even embrace, this natural part of life.
Here are the practices I’m following to prepare for my own season of languishing this fall and winter:
(1) Make your restorative list.
Take a moment to think about how you languish. We’re all different, and it’s important to be true to who you are. I feel quieter and less energetic when I’m languishing, which means I need to meet myself where I’ll be. My restorative list includes things I can do when I’m low-energy and little sad: a walk in Central Park (especially if it’s rainy), good chocolate, a pedicure, a cup of my favorite tea, watching a British gardening show (especially with Monty Don). You get the idea. These are not high energy activites. What they are is peaceful and comforting for me.
(2) Find what you cherish in the melancholy and quiet.
We all know the downside of toxic positivity. This is not that. This is about cultivating your soul. In the way that apple seeds won’t germinate without a season of cold, we can’t fully develop without our own seasons of darkness. Thomas Moore writes beautifully in Care of the Soul that our goal is to nurture a richly elaborated life, which means accepting and embracing the natural ebbs. For me, the gifts of a season of languishing are a deeper connection to the suffering of others, more compassion for my own vulnerabilities and weaknesses, and permission to pause. Your gifts may be gloriously different. Discover what they are and savor them.
(3) Do something from your list. And then say thank you.
All things end, including seasons a languishing. When you start to feel ready — and you’ll know when you are — do something from your list. If you sense a smile, or even the beginning of a smile, hold that for a moment and thank yourself. It may feel silly to look down at freshly painted toenails and say, “Thank you for being so shiny.” Do it anyway. Silliness is the point. Seriousness takes over when we’re languishing. Reminding yourself that not everything in life requires a deep and somber response helps you reconnect with lightness and fun. Don’t expect the first thing you do to pull you out of languishing entirely. That’s okay. Just keep coming back and be gentle with yourself.
(4) Find a wholesome purpose.
Languishing is normal, but we’re more prone to getting stuck in it when we don’t have wholesome purpose in our lives. Wholesome has an old-fashioned ring to it, but I think it’s as relevant to life in 2023 as ever. We feel better after doing something wholesome than after doing something that isn’t. We all know this. Finding a wholesome purpose doesn’t mean you have to quit your job and become a monk (although it could). All that is required is to find something that matters to you and contributes to the good in the world. I’m a nature lover, and I volunteer as a steward with our local land trust. It’s not a big deal, and I don’t do anything “important,” but I know that in a small way I’m helping preserve the woods of the Hudson Valley. For you, it may be volunteering at a hospital or writing letters to troops serving overseas. Find your thing, no matter how small you think it is, and commit to it. Your soul and the world will thank you.
I’d love to hear what’s on your list and what gifts you find in your own seasons of languishing. If you’re feeling it, please share!
warmly,
alison
