I recently signed up for a silent retreat (my first) in February. Preparing for a five-day silent retreat feels daunting, like training for a marathon—except the finish line isn’t endurance but stillness. There has been no advice from the retreat leader about how to “prepare,” but part of me feels like I should build up to this level of living. I’ve realized I need to intentionally carve out moments of stillness—quiet spaces where no new information enters my mind. No podcasts, no constant chatter, no endless scrolling. And actually, the season of winter feels like a good time to be in training.
It’s fascinating how even “good for you” habits like reading or learning can sometimes distract from a subtle restlessness. It’s not an obvious feeling, more like the faintest trace of boredom, a signal to slow down and just be.
A book I read a while ago, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May, has helped guide me in embracing this season of pulling back. Nature does this so effortlessly—slowing down, retreating to its roots, folding into flower buds, turning brown. Winter teaches us about the necessity of rest, of dormancy, before blooming back into fullness.
