Seasons

Last January, I found myself trudging through slush-filled streets, my fingers numb despite gloves, mentally calculating how many more weeks until spring. A bitter wind whipped between Manhattan’s buildings, creating urban wind tunnels that cut straight through my layers. I don’t love winter. It’s certainly my least favourite season. While I grew up in a relatively cold place with an unpleasant winter, I wouldn’t say I’m better adapted to it than anyone else. I do, however, have an appreciation for the seasons and I try to (begrudgingly) enjoy winter just as much as summer.

New York City doesn’t have a particularly harsh winter; it’s relatively short, and since NYC is subtropical, below freezing temperatures are rare. This is especially true recently, with climate change making winters warmer and shorter—NYC has seen winter temperatures rise about 2.4°F since 1970 according to NOAA data.

Each season in the city announces itself distinctly. Spring brings the sweet scent of cherry blossoms in Central Park and the happy chatter of people emerging from hibernation. Summer fills the air with the song of ice cream trucks and the distant roar of Coney Island’s crowds. Fall rustles with crisp leaves underfoot and the aroma of pumpkin spice wafting from every café. Winter has its own symphony—the hushed silence after fresh snow, the steam rising from street vents, and the jingle of holiday markets.

Despite my winter aversion, I’ve found small rituals that make it bearable—even enjoyable. I’ve learned to appreciate the quiet solitude of early morning walks when fresh snow muffles the city’s usual clamor. There’s something magical about watching the steam rise from my coffee cup against the backdrop of frost-covered windows. And I’ve discovered that winter offers the perfect excuse to explore the city’s countless museums and cozy bookstores I tend to bypass during warmer months.

If we think of the seasons as part of an annual cycle that resembles a sine wave, oscillating between cool and warm, then winter is the trough and summer is the peak. The beauty of this cycle is that everything is relative—the cold makes us appreciate warmth in ways we couldn’t otherwise.

Cultures around the world have long recognized the wisdom in embracing seasonal transitions rather than resisting them. Nordic countries practice “hygge,” creating moments of warmth and contentment during dark winters. Japanese culture celebrates each season with dedicated festivals, foods, and aesthetics—finding unique beauty in winter’s stark minimalism just as in spring’s abundant blossoms.

The seasons provide a powerful metaphor for life’s rhythms. We can’t truly appreciate the highs without experiencing the lows, and even though we naturally avoid difficult periods, they provide valuable contrast that enriches our experience.

Consider food: if you only ever ate at the finest restaurants and never had a mediocre meal, you’d quickly become desensitized to culinary excellence. By contrast, when you regularly eat simple, whole foods and occasionally encounter a disappointing dish, those exceptional dining experiences become truly special. This mirrors how eating seasonally—savoring summer’s ripe tomatoes or winter’s hearty root vegetables at their peak—creates a natural cycle of anticipation and appreciation that uniform abundance could never provide. You don’t need extravagance to feel satisfaction, and when you do indulge in a Michelin-starred meal, your appreciation deepens tremendously.

So next time you find yourself in a personal winter—a challenging period that feels endless—remember that the cycle continues. Winter doesn’t last forever, even when days feel impossibly long, cold, and dark. Once you pass the winter solstice, you’re already beginning the gradual journey toward brighter days. As for me, I’ll be found this February with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, watching the lengthening days from my window, and quietly plotting my first springtime picnic in Prospect Park—knowing that the contrast will make those warm afternoons all the sweeter.