I was standing outside scraping snow off Joe’s car and mine, noticing how the cold, brisk air hit my cheeks and nose. I remember feeling surprised that the rest of my body felt relatively warm, except for a small draft at the back of my neck where my hood wasn’t quite tight enough. It was one of those moments where you’re very aware of your body and your surroundings at the same time.

As I stood there, I kept thinking about the conversations and comments that had been circulating in the days leading up to that morning. The anticipation around the winter storm that was forecasted to hit Cincinnati and much of the Midwest. The predictions of up to a foot of snow, maybe more. Some people were genuinely excited, looking forward to a true winter day, snow-covered trees, quiet streets. Others were already frustrated, annoyed, dreading the cold, the inconvenience, and the disruption.

Most people who know me know, that I love snow. As I stood there, it became clear that it is not just snow that I love, it’s the variety of seasons. The experience of change. Watching nature move through its cycles. Seeing how vegetation shifts, how trees transform, how wildlife appears and disappears depending on the time of year. Which birds show up, which ones don’t. There is something grounding for me in that rhythm.

To be honest, I don’t actually love being cold. I’m cold most of the year, even when it’s 70 degrees I can feel chilly. But I love what the seasons represent. I love that they invite us into something different each time.

What really struck me that day, though, wasn’t the weather itself. It was the anticipation surrounding it.

The anxiety.
The waiting.

Will there be school tomorrow?
Will work be closed?

My family has a group text and my sisters were messaging back and forth about whose work had closed, which schools had called it, which of my nieces and nephews were still waiting to hear.

The conversation made me feel a mix of sadness and frustration.

Why is it so hard for us to simply have a day off in winter?

If schools already build in a certain number of snow days, why does it have to be such a drawn-out, stressful process?

Why do we wait until the very last minute, letting the anticipation and anxiety build, when we often know well in advance that severe weather is likely to affect travel, safety, and daily routines?

I understand this from multiple angles. As a small business owner, weather absolutely impacts my livelihood. When my business closes, I lose income. As an employee, I also know what it feels like to lose a day’s wages that aren’t compensated because of a snow day. I understand the complexity.

Still, I couldn’t shake the question:

Why can’t we normalize rest when nature clearly calls  for it?

If we can plan for holidays months in advance, why can’t we have one or two floating well-being days that are designed specifically for moments like this when the weather slows everything down anyway?

Call it a snow day.
Call it a well-being day.
But allow it to exist without guilt, without panic, without last-minute scrambling.

It also made me reflect on autonomy, how much control we believe we have over our time and how much we assume is out of our hands.

How often we wait for institutions, systems, or organizations to give us permission to slow down, instead of recognizing where we might have more choice than we think?

What would it look like to say, regardless of whether the official call has been made, we are choosing to slow down today?

To let nature set the pace.
To allow our children to learn from the environment instead of a schedule.
To make the snow our classroom, our playground, our invitation to rest.

I do not have clear answers. I am not pretending this is simple or accessible for everyone.

However, I do think it’s worth asking:

How much of our lifestyle is shaped by default and how much of it can be curated more intentionally?

This question feels especially relevant as I think about intentional living and the choices we make every day.

How much do we value rest?
How willing are we to protect it?
Are we willing to create boundaries that sometimes push back against what’s already been placed on our calendars?

This is part of what we begin exploring in The Mindful Reset Workshop, not with quick fixes or prescriptions, but with inquiry. With curiosity about our choices, our values, and the lives we’re actively participating in creating.

Nature does not rush and seasons do not apologize for slowing things down. Perhaps, there’s something there worth paying attention to.