The Overlooked Power of Cozy
Up here in Maine, summer came to a screeching halt.
Autumn plopped herself down and unfolded with sharp, clear mornings and leaves going orange and crimson.
And I find myself hungering for hot tea at the top of the day and a big book under a soft blanket at the bottom of the day. I want that sweet, snug warmth of cozy.
We don’t need coziness to survive. But I think we do need it for comfort and for soothing.
Our existence is one of relentless change, sometimes slow and subtle, like ice dissolving into water, sometimes wild and fast, like summer running out the door and fall running in.
We can fight change. Many of us do. Or we can figure out what we need to do to throw our arms around it. Or, at least, not dread, despise, deny it.
I’ve found that respecting this urge for coziness eases the stress of change and amplifies the excitement around it.
If I make time for green tea in the mornings and a great mystery in the evenings, I don’t pine for summer weather. I pull out thicker jackets, pull on wool socks, and head into the fall day with real interest in what it could hold.
Our hungers are often wisdom speaking to us. And if we find ourselves hungering for stew, BBC mysteries, mugs of hot cider, warm baths, padding around the house in slippers - whatever shape our cozy takes - that’s worth paying attention to.
It may be just what we need to ease into the next change existence is offering us.
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