We’ve reached the shortest day — at least here in the Northern hemisphere.
Maximum darkness.
Minimum light.
As I look at the storm outside my study window, though it’s daytime, it’s gloomy. Barely above half-light. The clouds are low and dense.
Everything, sky, earth, trees, the very air itself, sucks light in and gives out nothing in return.
The shortest day: a turning point.
We’re at the start of a journey towards more light.
Nights will shorten, days expand.
So the worst is over? The tough time of darkness is passed and we can look forward already to the long, relaxed summer evenings?
Yes and no.
Here’s a simple truth.
The toughest part of the journey through the dark half of the year isn’t November and December, it’s the months after the solstice. January and, especially, February.
I love winter, but it can be a tough time.
Relentless. Unforgiving.
Though daylight is expanding, the darkness is heavy, and the storms, as winter refuses to go gently, disturb the soul.
The moment of change — today — is not the moment struggle ends.
The moment of change is when we start the journey towards the ending of struggle.
The snake-oil sellers of the personal development industry promise you ‘just need to change’ and everything gets better.
It isn’t so.
That’s marketing, not truth.
After the moment of change — often a moment of insight, excitement, energy and self-belief — comes a long process of disciplined work.
That’s not easy to sell, especially in a world demanding immediate gratification.
Not easy to sell, but honest.
After the shortest day, we must work through the dog-days of January and February.
Knowing you’re growing only makes the daily struggle against your darkness seem harder and more unjust.
This is a hard truth of personal growth.
After the moment of decision comes the difficult, frustrating time of embedding new choices into old ways of being. Too many people give up and, giving up, feel like they’ve failed.
They feel change is, for them, impossible.
Some years ago my life imploded.
My health collapsed into a heart attack. My mental health collapsed too. The pandemic erased my career. Friendships and communities I thought were deep and solid proved to be illusions.
Suddenly, I was in hospital, scared and very lonely. My unexamined and unprocessed past, like deep Winter, told me it wasn’t yet ready to loose me from its grip.
In hospital, and in the weeks of convalescence afterwards, I knew I needed change. A decision was made. The process, though, still lay ahead of me. Things got a lot worse before they got better.
I spiralled deep into darkness. Though change was happening, daily reality was tougher than I imagined I could manage.
Some days, I no longer wanted to keep going.
Slowly though, like buds appearing on dormant trees, I saw signs of life’s return. Not an idea of change, but living signs.
Illusory friendships and self-interested communities began to lose their importance, to be replaced by a small number of real, deep, important relationships.
I learned to wait in the darkness with less frustration, trusting light would return — was already returning.
I cherished every sign of growth, and tried not to despair when a step forward was followed by a brutal blow that knocked me back into the dark.
Slowly, inexorably, the darkness grew less intense and lasted for less time. Slowly, the light increased.
Now, mostly, the light is back. I’m enjoying my Spring and I trust the Summer to come will be a good one.
Still, sometimes, there are storms and the nights seem very dark.
In the darkness of a winter night, when the clouds part, I see myriad stars and the splatter of the Milky Way.
There’s beauty in the darkest and longest of nights.
Each point of light is a possibility of hope.
Darkness between the stars is evidence there’s still room for the universe to grow. There’s room for hope to expand, for light to brighten.
The darkness is given meaning by the light.
The light is made more beautiful by its surrounding dark.
So, as we meet the shortest day, remember this:
Today is not the end of winter, nor a promise that struggle is done.
The hardest days may still be ahead.
Today though is a promise that light is returning, will always return.
When you make a choice to change, prepare for struggle ahead.
Real change is not a moment of choice, it’s a process.
Most cultures, at this time of year (or at their southern hemisphere equivalents) celebrate a festival of light. It’s how we gather strength for the darkness that must be endured before real light returns.
At a festival of light, we console ourselves with artificial light, then carry its memory through the dark months to come.
So too in a process of change. Make light for yourself. Draw hope and enthusiasm from your commitment to growth. Take encouragement and support from those who love you.
Carry your light into the difficult days that may lie ahead. Never let the winter’s storms extinguish it.
May your festival of light, external or internal, be joyous and gentle. May it give you the strength to brave the struggle any movement from darkness to light involves.
After thirty years performing, directing and teaching around the world, now I coach and mentor artists and others to live in joy and creativity. I also still perform sometimes, but usually keep my clothes on.
I recently published a free training ‘How to make BIG decisions when you feel really stuck’. It’s a PDF and video. Get your copy here.
More information about me here: www.johnbritton.co
Email: [email protected]