January

Hope and Joy

Reflecting on January, I find myself contemplating hope and joy—not the forced positivity kind, but the genuine aliveness that emerges when we open ourselves to what's here, even in harsh conditions. This month brought extreme cold and significant snowfall, the kind of winter that could easily feel oppressive. Yet within it, I discovered such profound beauty: in the snow-laden trees deep in the woods, in the unbridled joy of my dogs bounding through fresh powder, in an unexpected calm settling into my body, mind, and soul.

This relationship with winter didn't happen overnight. Nearly 25 years ago, I made a conscious decision. I was tired of feeling the dread that came with cold and darkness. If I was going to live in New England, I was going to embrace it. I began running year-round and took up cross-country skiing. That choice has made an enormous difference in my life. Now, I have a pull to be outside every day, even in the harshest weather. It's freeing, rewarding, and helps me manage other challenging areas of life differently. It also gives me great joy and appreciation for what each season offers.

This wasn't about denying the difficulty of bitter cold mornings or the challenge of navigating icy paths. It was about discovering that hope and joy aren't contingent on easy circumstances—they're available to us every day, in every circumstance, and in every season, if we're willing to see them.

Ways to Practice

Here are ways to cultivate hope and joy, especially when conditions feel challenging:

Notice what persists - Like the beautiful trees in winter, look for what thrives or simply continues despite difficulty. Ask yourself: "What beauty or aliveness can I see right now, even in harsh conditions?"

Let your body lead - My dogs don't analyze whether it's too cold for joy—they just play. When you notice resistance to the present moment, try moving your body: take a walk, stretch, dance. Physical engagement often unlocks emotional availability. Step outside for just two minutes and notice one thing that catches your attention.

Create small rituals of delight - Hope and joy aren't always grand; sometimes they're in a hot cup of coffee after a cold walk, or the way sunlight hits snow. Identify one small pleasure you can return to regularly when you need to reconnect with aliveness.

Reframe difficulty as the container, not the obstacle - Winter's harshness doesn't prevent beauty—it creates a particular kind of beauty. What if your current challenges aren't blocking joy but shaping a specific kind of hope? Ask: "What's possible here that wouldn't be possible in easier circumstances?"

Practice active hope - Hope isn't passive waiting; it's choosing to engage with possibility. When facing something difficult, ask: "What's one small action I can take toward what I want?" Then take it, even if conditions aren't perfect.

Brief Updates:

Our January 14th women's group session was rich with conversation. As we move forward, we'll focus on 1-2 volunteer topics per session, going deeper into specific actions, decisions, or issues you're navigating. The group witnesses, asks questions, and learns from the coaching—creating more breakthroughs than discussion alone can offer.

Next session options: Wednesday, February 11th OR Tuesday, February 18th at 4 PM ET

This open coaching circle format works well for topics like:

• Making difficult decisions

• Setting boundaries in relationships

• Managing overwhelm, difficult situations, or getting unstuck

The investment remains $27 per session.

Closing Reflection

During cross-country skiing trips this month, I encountered trees transformed by snow and ice into something almost magical. Each branch was delicately frosted, creating intricate patterns against the gray-white sky. These trees weren't waiting for spring to be beautiful. They stood in their winter glory, fully themselves in this exact moment.

Along my waterfront runs, I watched ducks gather in the partly frozen water, navigating around chunks of ice with determination. Some of the ducklings I've been observing are now taking their first flights—learning to soar despite the frigid conditions, not because of perfect weather but because it's time.

January taught me that joy isn't something we find only in warmth and ease—it's available in the stark beauty of ice-covered branches, in the determination of ducks navigating frozen edges, in new life taking flight despite harsh conditions, in the pure delight of dogs who don't wait for spring to play fully.

Hope isn't about believing everything will be easy. It's about trusting that beauty, growth, and aliveness persist even when conditions are harsh. The ducklings don't have the luxury of waiting for better weather. They take flight when they're ready, trusting their wings will hold them.

What small joys are available to you right now, even if circumstances aren't ideal? Where might you find hope not by waiting for conditions to improve, but by engaging with what's possible today? How might the very difficulty you're facing be creating a particular kind of beauty or strength you wouldn't discover any other way?

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul." — Emily Dickinson