The Times Magazine 5ear Summer Caitlin,
Hello. It’s Winter
Caitlin here. I’m you, but
in winter. Obviously.
I am writing to you in
January because, well, I
know you, and I know you
will need to read this letter- possibly daily – once
you’ve hit the summer solstice in June.
You hate the summer solstice, don’t you?
Not the day itself, of course. You love the
actual solstice. “Longest day of the year!”
you’ll say cheerfully, intending as always to
do “something pagan” “near some monoliths”,
but usually just opting for the longest pub-
garden session of the year instead.
You’re fine on the actual solstice.
It’s just the days after that get tricky. From
June 22 onwards you’ll start mournfully saying
things like, “Coh, the days are getting shorter
now.” Or you’ll look at the clock at 3.40pm
and say with wonder and dread, “Can you
believe it will be getting dark at this time in
five months? How awful. How do we manage?”
For someone who professes to love the
summer, you spend an awful lot of July and
August looking depressed. “All downhill now,”
you say, over and over. You become almost
frantic about “wasting” a second of the long,
sunny days. “Got to make the most of it,” you’ll
say, going for a second dog-walk at 8.30pm,
when it’s still bright. “Got to store up all these
memories of long evenings and sunshine to
get me through the winter. I hate winter.”
You waste your summers fretting about
winter. You think you hate winter.
But I’m here in winter now and I want to
tell you: Summer Caitlin, stop hating winter.
Stop dreading it. Because – newsflash – you’re
actually enjoying this winter: it seems that
you’ve finally learnt the knack. And although
spring will be, as always, a berserk, joyous
explosion of buds, blossom, bees and birdsong,
you’re in no rush for it yet. You’re happy for
this winter to last as long as it needs to.
What’s made the difference? A book.
Wintering, by Katherine May, which you
inhaled the week before Christmas. May
suggests there is an actual process called
“wintering”, a skill most modern people have
lost. These days we expect life to be one
endless summer – a constant, upwards, linear
progress through life. But that is not what
happens in nature. In nature, all creatures
D
CAITLIN MORAN
The letter it’s taken me a lifetime to write
It’s a winter survival guide – to myself
ROBERT WILSON
“winter”: they spend the colder months living
smaller lives; conserving energy; feasting;
sleeping; healing. Sometimes our “wintering”
is seasonal and sometimes it’s emotional. We
can also have personal winters – recovering
from illness; mourning loved ones; ending
relationships; being unemployed. Periods
where progress stalls and we have to lead
smaller lives. In the book, May points out we
have all just “wintered” – the pandemic saw us
all confined to the nest, somnambulantly
waiting for better times.
But once you have a word for this retreat- once you see it as an activity willingly
to take part in, rather than simply months
where you have been robbed of something,
ie summer – something clicks in your head.
I can’t tell you how many times I have said to
myself, “I am wintering right now. That’s all,”
and felt instantly comforted and calm.
And once you understand what winter
is “for”, it finally makes sense. There is, for
instance – and contrary to what you fear in
August – still sunshine in winter. You idiot!
You don’t live in Norway! On the frosty lawns
and the empty trees there is that gold-white
winter light that makes the moss glow and
ends in spectacular pewter and lilac sunsets.
There is still warmth too – if you stop sulking
that it’s not 30C and finally buy a proper
thermal coat, fleecy trousers and boots lined
with sheepskin.
And as for what previously you “lost” during
winter – those long days full of activity – there’s
something you should admit. That it’s quietly
wonderful that life is limited at this time of
year. Are you aware of the disconcerting
grasshopper franticness you sometimes have in
summer – berating yourself if you don’t swim in
the lido every day; don’t spend every weekend
hill-walking; don’t MAXIMISE SUMMER – as
if you’re some kind of creature that only lives
during the hotter months and just drops dead
with the first frost? The quiet sternness of
winter is, admit it, a relief: the dark and the
cold mean you can spend four months “just”
reading piles and piles of books; watching
How the West Was Won at 3pm on a Saturday;
baking apples and going to bed early.
So, Summer Caitlin, enjoy the summer
you’re in right now. Wear your shorts and
have your dawn swims and stay up all night at
your festivals. And stop trying to stop the tide
of time, you mad Canute.
Love, Winter Caitlin x. n
There is, contrary
to what you fear
in August, still
sunshine in winter.
You idiot! You don’t
live in Norway!