Floriferous Ideas: Living Seasonally
Musings on recalibrating & unfurling...
The online world is awash with advice about how one should begin the new year. The narratives often feel quite polarised—either you leap out of bed before sunrise on January 1st, fuel yourself with a protein smoothie, and set off on run where you will smash your all time personal best, or you surrender to the warmth of your blankets, snoozing your alarm and extending your winter hibernation.
Spoiler alert: I am wholeheartedly devoted to the latter.
Instead of setting myself a set of New Year's resolutions, I chose a single word to guide me—a theme to embody in all that I do, wherever possible. My word of the year for 2025 is recalibrate, and I am embracing it with intention. My aim is to quiet the relentless noise and societal pressure to constantly improve, reinvent myself, and chase achievement. Instead, I seek a more organic natural rhythm—one that allows me to move through each day with presence, savouring life’s quiet joys as they unfold.
I have been so fixated on distant goals that I have neglected the present moment, lost in the pursuit of what’s next rather than what is. A part of this, I realise, stems from my desire to control every aspect of my life, despite the futility of such an endeavour. And so, this year, I choose to recalibrate—to release, to trust, and to simply be.I have been consumed by posts about living seasonally, my life mimicking the behaviour of nature. It seems obvious really, but I haven’t stopped to acknowledge how much sense this makes.
It has been a revealing journey to confront my own habits and the way I speak to myself. I am, by nature, an early riser—most of the time. I cherish the quiet stillness of morning, the gentle unfolding of a new day, and the clarity that comes with those first, unhurried hours. Mornings grant me energy, focus, and a sense of calm that sets the tone for the hours ahead.
Yet, in the depths of winter, I find it harder to wake before sunrise. I noticed a tendency to chastise myself for needing extra rest—as if waking at 6:30 instead of 5:00 meant I had somehow squandered half the day. That quiet self-reproach lingered, casting a shadow over my entire day, despite the fact that my work allows me the flexibility to arrive when I choose. My routine, though self-imposed, had become an uncomfortable constraint rather than a sense of safety and comfort.
A few weeks ago, as I rushed through my morning after waking later than usual—frantically trying to reclaim a schedule that existed only in my own mind—I paused. Why am I doing this? I asked myself. Why am I allowing stress and urgency to dictate my day when am lucky enough to have the freedom to move at my own pace? In that moment, I realised: the only person affected by this self-imposed pressure was me. And so, I am trying to learn to let go—to embrace the ebb and flow of my rhythms, and allow myself the grace to simply be.
Breaking routines is never easy. I often fear that if I loosen my grip on certain habits, complacency will creep in, and my life will slowly begin to unravel. But in reality, when I started waking later and arriving at the office later, nothing truly fell apart. Aside from returning home later than usual (much to the dismay of my three cats), life carried on as it always had. If anything, I felt a little lighter—realising, perhaps for the first time, that my days need not be dictated by rigid timelines to feel meaningful or successful.
That doesn’t mean the transition has been effortless. I still catch myself thinking: I’m going to be late. I need to get up. Why does time move so quickly in the morning? Why am I so tired? What’s wrong with me? Am I failing?
But if you’ve ever felt the same, let me assure you—you are not failing. Letting go of the self-imposed rules and routines we cling to so tightly is not a sign of weakness but of self-compassion. I won’t claim this as a cure for anxiety, but I have noticed something shifting. As the mornings begin to brighten, I feel a quiet pull to rise a little earlier—not out of obligation, but out of ease. And perhaps that is the real lesson: I am still recalibrating, still learning to end this battle with my mind.
