How to Romanticise Winter Without Pretending You Love the Cold

For me, romanticising something is mostly about paying attention to it.

Finding the bits that are good and making slightly more room for them.

You don't have to pretend the inconvenient parts are beautiful. You just don't let them become the entire story.

At our house, the lights are automated, so as dusk arrives the house starts lighting itself.

Lamps. Warm pools of light. Candles when you want them.

Don't fight the dark with more light. Make the light you use better.

We live close to the woods, so Bas and I can simply go out and walk.

The woods in winter are quieter. The air is cold. Sometimes it's muddy.

Then you come home. Coat off. Shoes off. Warm room. Coffee.

Winter is very good at making you appreciate the difference between outside and in.

Staying home is not a failed plan.

Make staying home feel intentional sometimes. Put a film on that you've actually chosen. Read. Start a puzzle. Put music on. Or do absolutely nothing impressive.

Rest doesn't become more legitimate because you've made it productive.

A jigsaw puzzle. An adult colouring book. Reading something enormous. Baking. Making pasta. A junk journal.

Not another skill you need to master. Not a side hustle.

A hobby is allowed to be completely useless.

Winter makes me want food that takes its time.

Roast beef. Potatoes from the oven. Soup. Things that bubble. Things containing cheese. Things that make the kitchen smell good.

The smell of dinner cooking can be a winter ritual before dinner even reaches the table.

Once Christmas has gone, I don't necessarily want the house to lose warmth. I just want it to become less specifically Christmas.

Woods. Amber. Vanilla. Something smoky. Something warm and enveloping.

Choose a winter scent palette rather than collecting winter scents.

Being cold makes almost everything less enjoyable.

Wear the proper coat. Put the thick socks on. Take the shoes that can survive the woods.

There is no prize for enduring January in an outfit designed for October.

One dinner. A day trip. A new book arriving. A Sunday roast. A film you want to watch.

Winter feels shorter when it contains things rather than simply sitting between Christmas and spring.

Go out for good coffee. Visit a farm shop. Walk in the woods. Buy something nice for dinner. Come home. Put music on. Cook.

A good life cannot depend entirely on extraordinary days.

Christmas in our house is not subtle. There are eight trees.

And then I love taking it down.

Keep texture. Keep warm lighting. Keep the candle. Keep the things you actually use.

Winter can be visually quieter without feeling emotionally colder.

You probably already own a blanket. You already have a mug. There may be several candles waiting to be used.

Read the book you already bought. Burn the expensive candle. Wear the good pyjamas.

Sometimes luxury is simply allowing yourself to enjoy what you were saving.

Invite someone for dinner. Meet for coffee. Or spend an entire weekend with your partner and nobody else.

Both count.

Summer has long evenings. Winter has other things.

The first warm room after a cold walk. Food that's been in the oven for hours. Lamps on at four. Heavy blankets. Long films. Slow Sundays.

A season becomes much easier to enjoy when you stop asking it to provide another season's pleasures.