10/15/2026
The aspens are starting to let go of their leaves here in the San Juans, some already bare, others still holding on to their gold. Down in town, there’s no snow yet. But the mountains in front of me are already turning white!
The longer I live seasonally ive seasonally, the more affirmed I am that the body is meant to move with these cycles.
So much of modern life asks for a permanent summer: long days under bright lights, the same pace, the same output and the same intensity in January as in July. Summer is beautiful, but nothing in nature stays there. Try to, and you burn out.
The opposite doesn’t work either. Stay in winter year-round, withdrawn and still and waiting, and life starts to feel heavy and stuck.
I believe health lives in the movement between the two. Expansion and rest. Output and repair. Gathering in and letting go.
That being said, living seasonally doesn’t mean going dormant until April. I’ll still be outside nearly every day finding different ways to play in the snow or pursuing more strength based training. What changes isn’t whether I move. It’s the urgency, the pace and the overall output of my day-to-day.
My food shifts too, toward warm, slow-cooked meals, roots, broths and the heartier foods my body asks for this time of year. I go to bed earlier, embrace the midday sun whenever I can, and keep a pot of warm, earthy tea going most afternoons while I’m meeting with clients. And I make more room for the quiet work of noticing. Although that practice belongs to every season, doesn’t it?
As the snow settles onto the peaks, here’s what I’m asking myself, and what I’d ask you: what would it look like to let this season be what it is, and what would need to happen (or not happen)?
