“The human mortals want their winter here”

Midsummer Night’s Dream — William Shakespeare

I love winter.

It has always been my favourite time of year, despite all the literature lamenting its barren, desolate, lonely hours and yearning for the long-awaited return of the summer. It seems pessimistic to admit to loving winter, but I can’t help that I burn at the slightest sun and that the heat makes me want to pull my skin off and that the concept of a crop-top or shorts sends me into a dysmorphic tailspin. No, none of that. I like the lights reflecting off the wet pavements, heavy rain against the windows, the sound and smell of a fire crackling in a hearth, the comfort and nostalgia of it all, that little bit of inevitable melancholy.

It’s also when I do my best work, the winter. I’m a reverse hibernator. I have no discontent in winter. The hope is, then, that this first winter of my PhD will continue to prove fruitful (not to mix my seasonal metaphors too much), and that I can come into 2026 with a few more words on a page and some more articles and books under my belt. I can’t bloody wait.

I’ve been reading, writing, note-taking, and doing so much thinking. My wonderful mentor, lovely friend, and incredibly talented colleague Harley said to me that it can be helpful to have lots of stuff happening when you’re working on a PhD because it helps you really focus when you need to. She’s right. This winter has not been one thus far of retreat, but of scribbling and inspiration. I’ve already written what I think is some decent stuff, I have been reading with any spare chance I get, I have been really feeling like a researcher lately, and I really really like it. I wrote the sentence “definition goes beyond mere etymological derivation” the other day and I felt on top of the world. There’s nothing like it, like this.

I didn’t think I would feel so positive so soon, and its both exciting and uneasy. PhDs are, allegedly, the route to becoming an expert in your chosen field, and that route is potholed and bumpy. The concept of calling myself an expert in anything that matters sits uncomfortably on me, but on these dark mornings and long nights I feel like I can see a future where it’s possible.

That is, until today. Today is the shortest day.

From now on, the days will stretch longer and the night will be kept at bay. My good hours, the golden-by-candlelight hours will grower shorter and shorter until I only get about half an hour of darkness and no fog or mist whatsoever. Unbearable.

I suppose this is all to say that momentum comes in peaks and troughs, and if I am doing this thing for six years, I know I have six good winters of work, and six long summers of limping through the necessities. Finding the perfect writing mindset is elusive and rare and I suppose I’m lucky that I even know what mine is, but the key to god work is doing it even when the road is well lit by natural light and an ambient 23 degrees Celsius. I’ll keep remembering what Harley said – keeping busy is good for the mind and good for the work. I might want my winter here, but thanks to the rotation of the earth and global warming, I can’t have it – and I need to be okay with that. Sol Invictus, the “Unconquered Sun”, was the Roman celebration on the winter solstice of the death and rebirth of the sun, and its slow and glorious return to our skies to vanquish the dark. Here’s hoping I can learn a little something from its rise.