I have chosen to live in New England-- a place with long, cold, snowy winters. Right now this means breath-taking fall colors, blue skies, and warm sunshine. My husband is off hiking on woodland trails in this, his favorite time of year. I'm panicking about finding someone to plow my driveway.

I have very real fears of being stranded and helpless and even smothered by the snow that almost certainly will come. The Old Farmer's Almanac predicts that this winter will be even worse than last year and that was pretty incredible. (Long-time readers may remember Wishin' and Hopin' January 2003).

Part of me thinks I'm foolish and wasteful for not living in the moment and appreciating what's here and now. Part of me feels ashamed of my fear and thinks I should be courageous and trust that everything will work out for the best.

My coach proposes this as a lesson in surrender and asks if I'm willing to consider a reframe from struggle against the snow to acceptance. Here's where that inquiry took me:

So I'm picturing myself lying in my driveway being buried by snow. Instead of struggling, I freeze and die and become part of the earth. That gets me thinking about winter as transformational-- things dying so that there is new growth in the spring. The earth is turning so that there's warm weather in other parts of the world and our turn will come again. I can trust that cycle.

It's seasonal nighttime-- time to rest and recuperate. Time to rely on stored energy and resources and not have to do too much except make soup and read seed catalogs.

Winter is dark, and darkness, i.e. the unknown, can be scary. But darkness can also be potential. Schrodinger's cat is just as likely to live as die. I can assume that uncertainty can bring wonder and delight as well as chaos and fear.

My fears are part of my wholeness. Denying them is as big a waste of time as denying my power and fabulousness. It's a package deal. Wanting security and certainty are natural desires and appropriate when preparing for a long, cold winter. Somehow I've chosen an intense environment in which to grow. I surrender to the long winter's nap and wish you all sweet dreams.