It’s been a long, snow-filled day. There’s so much snow that I can’t open the front door. Much of my car is buried in it. The unspectacular backyard is covered with it, somehow making it much more appealing. I woke up to find snow had managed to escape its natural habitat, landing on the interior windowsill. Are they still called windowsills? For some reason that feels like a word only grandmothers who lived through world wars and Woodstock would say. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say that word aloud in years. It seemed foreign when I said it aloud as I described the situation to my father via telephone this evening. “There was snow in the house. On the windowsill.”

Sure snow is cold and wet and beautiful. I couldn’t acknowledge its beauty as I tried to figure out a way to keep snow from coming in. However, snow also brings a stillness with it. For some reason, that’s what I sensed even as I checked the window, making adjustments to prevent more snow from coming in. I wanted that stillness, the quiet beauty that comes with snow. The Christmas season can be so busy, bustling, event filled. While the timing may not always be the best, I look forward to snowfalls which often shut everything down in my area. Sometimes my little world feels like it’s spinning out of control, waiting for a well-timed snow day to set things right with a bit of stillness.

Rehearsals are rescheduled. Work is put on hold (sometimes). Businesses remain closed. Schools close. Concerts are cancelled.

It feels like nature’s way of taking the fidgety toddler-like hands of humanity, looking us in the eye while calmly commanding us to breathe and be still.

Be still without worrying about your content calendar.

Be still without wondering who will be responsible for various tasks on your list at work.

Be still without having to taxi everyone in your family to their various appointments.

Be still without any electronic distractions.


The snow on the windowsill signaled a quiet day was ahead. I had three books assembled to get me through the stillness, all purchased during different phases of my life yet perfect for my current season.

One book focuses on giving me the inside scoop to skills specific to a particular industry, an industry I’ve dreamed of working in for many years.

Another book focuses on bouncing back from failure, being more strategic with pursuing goals and personal development.

The last book emphasizes the idea that we are only given one chance to live, encouraging the reader to embrace opportunities to do brave, difficult things.

The snowy stillness seemed to pull up an empty chair, invite me to sit and absorb the themes expressed in each book, themes which nurture the seeds of hope and childlike expectation. These themes hit home with various levels of intensity from as gentle as a dove to as intense as a roundhouse kick from the muscles of Brussels himself. I’m totally here for it.

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