Redeeming Winter
Could winter actually be good?
“Yeah, but just wait till the winter!”
A sentence I heard very frequently during my very first warm, beautiful, energizing, exciting Chicago summer from many of my newfound friends. Brett who loves biking... hmm, we’ll see about the winter. Walking to the train or the bus? We’ll see how you like that in the winter.
Summer
is a great season for growing in breadth—meeting new people, looping more people into your groups, tagging along to other groups, trying new things, exploring new areas by bike. It’s hard to describe how special this feeling that permeates the season is, but it feels like the whole world is opened up to you. So much vibrancy, joy, hope, discovery, possibility. Amazing things often just happen spontaneously—lounging by the lake, movie nights, outdoor concerts, bike rides, random adventures.
As the weather grew colder throughout the months, I found myself simply switching to my warmer gloves and top layers, and biking was comfortable enough—I still don’t even switch from shorts to pants until it’s almost freezing. But most of my friends started dropping off over time... there was this weird and prevalent idea going around that it was “too cold for biking.” Whatever. This was difficult to comprehend back in October (but possible to imagine during January lol). As we crossed into the new year, there were some days I found myself wearing a heavy coat, mittens, wool socks, long johns under my jeans, and a balaclava... still biking.
There’s a certain stubbornness it takes to do much of anything outdoors during the worst parts of a Chicago winter. There’s also a certain honesty to the winter that will whoop your ass and chill you to the bone if you don’t honestly prepare accordingly. The funny part with biking was that, after stuffing my body into all those layers, I was actually super comfy. Even in subzero wind chills.
But honestly, biking in the cold isn’t too bad. However, waiting for a bus? That absolutely SUCKS. Some background context for my stubbornness.
I went for a brief walk
one day during the relentlessly cold January, where the wind chill was a frigid -30° F. This unlocked a new sensation in my body where, even underneath all my layers and clothes, I still knew deep in my bones that it was really. freaking. cold. Some sort of primal awareness was awakened in my brain. “Hey, stay alert... we don’t want to freeze to death or anything,” said my brain. “But also the snow is still pretty I guess.” And there was this eerie quiet and stillness out there. I could almost feel the sluggish molecules in the air slowing down, falling into entropy. Nature humbles you by reminding you that yes, it can kill you if you don’t respect it.
You might be thinking, “Brett, why did you go outside at all when it felt like -30°?” That was actually one of numerous winter memories I made this season—quite a few of them outdoors actually—but you could certainly question my sanity about it, I suppose.
One Saturday morning,
I biked all the way to the Museum of Science and Industry on the south side of the city, over 12 miles from my warm, cozy apartment. It was also in the single digits, relentlessly windy (thank you Lake Michigan), and there was still some snow on the ground. I biked all the way there by myself and stayed for a solid 5 hours (it’s a GREAT museum, by the way) all because I didn’t really have anything to do, and I’d been saving Chicago’s many museums for the colder months.
I didn’t see a single soul out on the lakefront trail south of downtown, but that adventure was the highlight of my week. It’s great to prove to yourself what you’re capable of… it was so cold my water bottle still had ice in it 8 hours after bringing it back inside my apartment.
Another day in January,
after being cooped up on the train, in the office, and on the train again, I found myself cooped up back in my apartment after work, feeling kinda bored. Listless. A bit flat. By this point, I’d learned that, rather than this being a unique experience to me, pretty much everybody in Chicago also feels cooped up, tired, cold, and a bit seasonally depressed at points in the winter. So, I did what any rational person does...
I decided to walk from my apartment all the way to the lake.
Now, I don’t live in one of the neighborhoods right next to the lake. I live on the near northwest side, about 4 miles from the lake—not too far, but a bit of an adventure on foot. So, I started walking, face covered and fingers mittened.
And it was actually pretty refreshing! It was neat to see the hustle and bustle of the cars and buses going by, to watch a train pass by on the elevated tracks overhead, to notice how the windows on the little shops and stores and apartments felt like portals into little worlds as I walked past. And I could feel the way the neighborhoods changed near their boundaries, the architecture shifting, the expressway looming overhead, the skyline glimmering coldly over the river
I also met up with a friend who works at my church very close to the lake, and we grabbed Chipotle. I convinced him to join me for the last 1/2 mile of my journey. And another friend joined at Chipotle because she just so happened to be going to choir rehearsal and saw us through the window lol! What was a refreshing solo adventure led to a surprisingly rich moment of community with friends.
And the two of us made it to the lake, with the impressive and imposing skyline view there to reward us. In a season where it’s too easy to stay cooped up all alone inside, sedentary and sluggish, I appreciated the contrast of moving my body out in the cold, cracking dumb jokes with a friend, taking in the cold beauty of the lakefront punctuated by Chicago’s inspiring array of supertall skyscrapers and architectural styles. But all of a sudden, we felt a good deal less alone, and a good bit more accomplished with our day.
One Sunday afternoon,
I felt the need to go Wander Around. Even though I am a mild extrovert who loves people and deeply enjoys my friendships and church community, I’ve found that as a creative person and music composer, I need to indulge myself in odd things sometimes. In the case of this Sunday, that meant walking to the lake and checking out the temporary Lake Michigan Glacier that had formed.
As I was walking along the lake, looking at the ice, I met a friendly man with an accent I couldn’t quite place, as he’d walked up and asked if I could take his picture with the lake behind him. As we briefly chatted, he told me how he always goes for a walk in the winter, how it’s important to choose to enjoy it when it’s cold out, how it’s not too cold after all. And then he walked off.
It felt a bit surreal to meet a living personification of the attitude I’d chosen to adopt for winter, but whatever. Stuff like that happens sometimes in big cities—it’s a reason I like the occasional conversation with a stranger.
As I walked farther along, I passed by parents and kids and young adults (and even a dog or two) stumbling, and occasionally slipping, around on the ice, having a great ole time. Just because they could. I saw people picking up icicles, laughing at their friend when they suddenly land on their butt (only for the tables to turn in less than 60 seconds), and just walking along the (frozen) beach. I slipped a couple times, grinning to myself.
The biggest opportunity,
perhaps, to intentionally make the most of winter, was my birthday. Despite coming from a family that, especially in our adult years, is pretty low-key about birthdays, I decided to put substantially more effort into making my birthday something a bit more special. Maybe all the symphony concerts and arthouse films I’ve ingested have given me some sort of craving for spectacle. Or maybe it was the fact that I was turning 25, a big milestone year that only happens once. Which lends itself to spectacle.
As I planned my birthday (wow, stuff like this really does take a surprising bit of planning), it started to feel more important. It was creativity at work—all of a sudden, I felt a lot of purpose and intentionality in getting the details right, creating the right vibe, ensuring the flow felt good, and getting my friends invested. All for a birthday party, something that technically is frivolous and unnecessary. But oh boy, to me, it was anything but.
I was elated to finally host a bunch of friends at my apartment, dressed up in cocktail attire, and to share a meal I’d cooked myself (3 full pots of jambalaya from scratch, with wine), ending with a presentation of some short film scores and music pieces I’d composed. This was much more involved than any of my birthdays in the past—but then again, 25 is a special milestone year. And I also realized this was my “revolt” against the worst parts of winter.
This gathering was the total opposite of staying holed up in our apartments, alone, doomscrolling in sweatpants while eating Doordash (random aside—I’ve never actually Doordashed anything). Instead, I crammed close to 20 of my friends into my apartment (requiring 3 tables and some newly purchased folding chairs), wearing fun suits and colorful dresses, to share some homecooked food and wine, to celebrate just for the sake of celebrating, and to appreciate and reflect on some artistic creations.
Considerably more extravagant than a simple “let’s hang out for dinner” type of vibe, I realized my original intent had worked quite well—it honestly warmed my heart to hear stuff from my friends like “I’m excited I get to wear this dress for your birthday party!” or “This was one of the best birthdays I’ve been to!” or “Thanks for the encouragement about winter.” This was all for some event I just randomly decided to plan out one day... but it’s inspiring to be reminded that we can positively impact other people, that we can build community, that we can inspire others.
As I shared during the creative presentation at my party, it’s important to think about narrative. What are the stories we tell ourselves? What are the invisible guiding structures we forget to see? Are you in the middle of your Hero’s Journey, or are you a downtrodden Underdog who just can’t catch a lucky break?
When you write music for a film, it’s essential to understand the underlying narrative motion, or else your music won’t fit what’s happening at all. This background helped me lean into the introspective, existential moods that winter puts me in sometimes, rather than pulling away—sometimes it’s good to ask deep questions, and really look deeply at your life.
Winter
is a great season for growing in depth—digging deeper into community, practicing the things we already do, contemplating and introspecting, and faithfully continuing to show up to the things we care about, even if the cold stings and the wind bites. Most of the good things require some planning ahead—coordinating schedules, convincing others to leave their own cozy apartments and venture into the cold to meet you, and, of course, layering up to the point of absurdity. But I’ve realized there’s something special about this season too—slowing down to notice the beauty of snow falling, wrestling with the things I try to escape during the busier months, appreciating the smaller and more intimate moments with friends, or sinking into a plush seat in the warm symphony hall or cinema.
Yes, winter brings many downsides and drawbacks—and in Chicago, you’ll hear plenty about that—but you won’t find a better time to truly slow down, introspect and look at your life more clearly, honestly make sense of your own story, and deeply appreciate all the great and wonderful things you realized you take for granted.
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