Tag: life lessons

Resilence Wasn’t Part of My Plan: The Beauty of Reflection at Season’s End

On By Jane LawrenceIn SEASON REFLECTIONLeave a comment

As my winter season comes to a close, I find myself in the final week of my Seasons of Hygge practice—the thirteenth week dedicated entirely to reflecting on the twelve that came before. Reflection is often spoken about in an abstract way, but what does it really mean? Why set aside an entire week to look back when so much advice encourages us to live in the present?

I designed this week of reflection as a pause, a moment to zoom out before stepping into the next season. Life moves fast—each day flows into the next, weeks blur together, and before we know it, an entire season has passed. Even with my daily and weekly practices, I often move forward without fully absorbing what each season has really meant. This week gives me the space to take in the whole picture and honor what the past three months have been—not just in what I intended for them to be, but in how they actually unfolded.

This Winter: A Season of Resilience

This winter wasn’t what I imagined it would be. Looking back, I see that I never really “kicked off” the season the way I have in the past. My husband had shoulder surgery, and much of my energy in those early weeks was focused on caregiving. The holidays came and went in a blur, and while I carried the Seasons of Hygge principles in my mind, I didn’t engage in my practice as fully as I had in previous seasons. I didn’t assign a principle to each week, and I wasn’t using my planner in the way I typically do.

At first, I saw this as a season where I had neglected my practice. But through this week of reflection, I now see it differently. This winter was a season of resilience. I wasn’t disengaged—I was present in the ways I needed to be. I was still living by the principles, even if I wasn’t documenting them as deliberately. And that’s something to acknowledge.

John Lennon famously said, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” That truth showed up for me this winter. I planned for a season of inspiration, habit-building, and intentional goals, but life had its own plans. Reflection isn’t about judging what a season should have been; it’s about recognizing what it was and honoring how I moved through it.

And what I see now is that resilience isn’t something you set out to cultivate, but reflection allows you to see that it was there all along. I didn’t enter this season intending to build resilience, yet as I look back, I realize that’s exactly what carried me through.

Why Reflection Matters

One of the things I love most about this practice is that it isn’t about focusing on just one principle per week and then moving on—it’s about recognizing that all 11 principles are always present. They show up in different ways, at different times, and often in ways I don’t anticipate.

This week allows me to look not just at how each principle was explored in its dedicated week but at how they wove themselves through my entire season. Gratitude surfaced in unexpected moments of exhaustion when I felt the gift of other’s love and kindness to help guide me out of feeling dark. Comfort became not just about physical coziness but about prioritizing emotional and mental rest. Presence was found not in structured mindfulness but in the quiet, necessary work of caring for someone I love.

As I close this season, I remind myself that every season is part of the larger cycles of life. Some will be full of outwardly directed energy, creativity, and engagement. Others will be about simply getting through, holding steady, and offering what I can. Both are valuable.

So, as I bid a fond farewell to this winter, I do so with a sense of honor—for the resilience I discovered, for the small moments that mattered, and for the lessons that will stay with me as I step into spring.

Lessons from Shoveling Deep Snow: A Different Way to Tackle Hard Things

On By Jane LawrenceIn HARMONYLeave a comment

This morning, I stepped outside to face the aftermath of an overnight snowfall—8 to 10 inches of fresh, heavy snow blanketing our driveway. Shoveling has never been a task I dread. In fact, I appreciate its rhythm, crisp air, and satisfaction in seeing the cleared cement behind me. It feeds that part of me that thrives on the visible progress of my efforts.

But today, as I reached for a shovel, I made a choice that the younger me wouldn’t have. Instead of instinctively grabbing the larger, broader shovel—the one designed to move the most snow in the least amount of time—I chose the smaller one. It might seem counterintuitive at first. Shouldn’t a bigger job require the biggest tool? But experience whispered otherwise. I knew the smaller shovel would prevent me from overloading my body, forcing a more measured approach, and ultimately making the task more manageable.

That wasn’t the only shift in thinking. Normally, my method is to plow straight down the middle of the driveway and push the snow to each side—a system that has always felt like the “right” way to tackle the job. But today, I abandoned efficiency in favor of ease. I worked in small sections, moving the snow bit by bit toward one side and then the other. It felt slower, but steady. The progress was there, just in a way that didn’t leave me exhausted or overwhelmed.

As I worked, I realized how much this mirrors the way I approach hard things in life now. When I was younger, I would throw myself at challenges headfirst, believing that effort alone—going “all out”—was the best way to achieve a goal. But experience has taught me that sustained effort matters more. That sometimes, the slower path, the smaller steps, the gentler approach, is the one that actually gets you where you want to go—without burnout, without injury, without resentment.

There’s a certain wisdom in knowing how to pace yourself. In recognizing that pushing through isn’t always the best answer. That working with yourself, rather than against yourself, can still lead to accomplishing the goal. I finished clearing the driveway feeling strong, not spent. The job got done, and I still had energy left for the rest of the day.

Life, like shoveling deep snow, doesn’t always have to be tackled with brute force. Sometimes, the best way through is slow and steady—choosing the right tool, the right method, and the right pace to keep moving forward.