This is a photo taken on our first night living at Donner Lake in 2013.
Spring is finally here. Can you feel it? The cold winter memories are starting to fade into those long sunny days, warm breezes, and just being outside nonstop. I don't know about you, but I seriously feel like a different person come springtime. There's just something about shedding those bulky coats and snow boots that puts an extra pep in my step. Maybe it's the buzz of everything waking up again after winter's big snooze. Either way, I'm just freaking happier.
Truth is, winter and I have always had kind of a complicated relationship. More like winter has been the complicating a-hole and I've hated its guts since I was a kid. It's that dark, dreary season you just tolerate until spring's bright light finally arrives to lift you out of the funk. Doesn't help that some of the darkest times of my life happened to coincide with those winter months - things like my separation, divorce, major injuries, freakin' spinal surgery, a horrifying head-on collision...the list goes on. And Tahoe winters? They're just brutal. The cold literally cuts you. Makes your fingers and lips crack and bleed. I can hear the skiers and winter sports die-hards scoffing already, assuming I just don't get outside enough. Trust me, I do all the winter activities. The "doing" part was never the issue for me. It was how I felt - isolated, forced to retreat, surrounded by oppressive stillness. That was my hang-up.
Those feelings of winter dread were pretty much set in stone...until I moved to Donner Lake in Truckee. It's this gorgeous little high-mountain lake nestled in the pines. I was living in Truckee when my marriage fell apart. Didn't leave with much besides my car, some clothes, a couple beat-up couches, an old dusty TV, a huge mountain of debt and uncertainty. The only certainty that stuck with me? My disdain for winter.
That first winter on my own was even darker than usual. I could only afford this tiny apartment that was pretty much a glorified college dorm room. Cracked linoleum floors and ugly orange countertops reminiscent of my childhood kitchen. My beat-up couches and garage sale coffee table as my "living room" set. A mattress from a friend's spare room. My parents purchased bunk beds for my girls since money was so insanely tight back then. The 1970’s wall heaters never got the place warm enough. Some nights, I could literally see my breath while working on my laptop. I tried everything to shake that overwhelming winter discomfort, but it was relentless. All I could think about was spring and summer and wishing the season would just be over already.
The following summer, this little condo right on Donner Lake miraculously popped up in my price range. Okay, fine, it was juuust a stretch beyond what I could reasonably afford. But there was just no way I could do another winter wearing triple layers of socks and a coat to bed. So, I bit the bullet and signed the lease. My girls and I went all in on embracing everything Donner Lake's different sparkly seasons had to offer.
We had amazing lake views from the deck and bedrooms. Boats racing back and forth towing skiers and wakeboarders. The most intoxicating smells of sunscreen and barbequing in the air. Going across the street to drop our paddleboard right off the dock quickly became a nightly tradition. We'd go for long walks on the beach, have picnics, host outdoor dinners with friends, and ride our bikes everywhere. The lake has this incredible beach park where we'd literally play from sunup to sundown. Watching - and hearing - the clattering freight and passenger trains lumbering along the railroad over Donner Summit all day long was so cool. Every tree was just dripping with green aspen leaves and pine needles. Honestly, it felt like we were living inside an actual Bob Ross painting or something. The vibe was so vibrant and alive. We were, too.
But of course, as that summer sun started sinking lower and the cold temps came creeping back in, I dreaded Donner Lake's cue to kick off what I expected would be another torturous season of winter discomfort.
Boy, did she cue me hard. First, the people cleared out real fast. Then, the water levels just plummeted as they opened up the locks to make room for all the coming snow and runoff. Suddenly, the whole shoreline was just jagged rocks, litter, broken bottles, and fishing hooks tangled in old logs. The storms rolled in with winds so fierce you could barely hear yourself think. We're talking unreal amounts of snow dumping down. The fog was so dense over the water some days you literally couldn't see two feet in front of your face. And the lake itself turned deathly, bone-chillingly cold. An eerie quiet hush just kinda fell over everything. I was surrounded by...stillness.
At first, I did everything I possibly could to cut through and overpower that oppressive winter stillness. We baked up a storm, trying out any recipe that looked warm and comforting. I dragged my kids out skiing whether they actually wanted to or not. Accepted and extended more dinner invites than I ever had before, just to keep ourselves occupied and surrounded by noise. But the more I tried to jam-pack our schedule, the more unsettled and uncomfortable I felt inside.
Until one day, I started observing Donner Lake more closely. I sat by the fireplace, watching her cycle through winter...day after day after day. That's when I started noticing things about this season that I never really appreciated before. How the smell of burning oak and pine slowly replaced the sunscreen and barbecue smells of summer. Or the fact that those receding waters didn't just reveal trash - they unveiled these incredible artifacts and pieces of history, like broken perfume bottles and dishware from the old railroad camp days when they were building the Transcontinental line over the summit. I tuned into the howling wind instead of trying to overpower it with noise and chatter. Realized the desperate need for that heavy insulating snowpack, or else Donner Lake wouldn't have enough water supply to provide for the blooming months ahead. The fog never seemed to deter the die-hard fishermen - their little boats just materialized through the dense grayness like ghosts, as they switched up their techniques to fish differently, observe more intently, slow things down. There was this unexpected, weighty beauty to winter that I just never allowed myself to fully experience before. Secrets and surprises patiently awaiting within the stillness itself. It was like Donner Lake was telling me something.
She was.
Winter is meant for rest.
And if I'm being honest...most of us absolutely suck at resting these days, myself included. Our crazy, demanding lives have us running around frantic and disconnected as hell. We're so hyper-focused on sustaining effort and energy through every single aspect of our existence that we completely lose sight of our profound need to actually retreat and replenish every now and then. Year after year, Donner Lake unapologetically strips itself down, sheds it all, drains and hibernates - purely to make room for fresh growth when the time is right. That's what winter’s stillness is all about - giving ourselves permission to retreat for a while. To recover physically, spiritually, emotionally. The cold darkness is saying "Sit your ass down and actually be still for once." Winter is our yearly invite to shed all the distractions for a little while and simply attend to whatever our depleted selves desperately need to recharge.
But how often do we ignore that sacred invitation to retreat? We're so hardwired to just power through the winter season with the same energy we reserve for spring and summer. The result? We end up stumbling into the warmer months already completely depleted and burnt out before we've even started.
That year at Donner Lake, it finally hit me - I never actually hated winter. What I hated was feeling so deeply uncomfortable with rest itself. My soul's discomfort during those cold months was simply begging for rest. But year after year, I did the complete opposite. I filled every ounce of winter stillness with elaborate plans and excessive socializing, just to avoid being alone with myself. I tried doubling down on maintaining "springtime energy" when what I really needed was the balancing period of retreat, isolation, and quiet to restore me.
We all need it, whether we admit it or not. Winter is just the wake-up call to honor that cycle.
So that first winter living right on Donner Lake, I stopped fighting the whole thing so damn hard. I started taking stupid long showers, just zoning out under the hot water. Going to bed early most nights, not because I had anywhere to be at the crack of dawn, but just to lean into that urge to nest and chill. Stayed inside way more, giving myself a free pass to just exist in the stillness without constantly seeking something to stimulate or entertain me. I actually listened to full albums again instead of just background music. Let lyrics and melodies just wash over me without distractions. My girls and I talked - like really talked, unhurried convos not dictated by schedules or clocks. We hung out just being together, cuddling up without needing to be "doing" something productive the whole time.
That winter of letting Donner Lake lead was also when I got hooked on writing. Not just journaling or half-assed attempts, but really diving in. Showing up to the laptop, letting whatever was swirling around unspool itself. I started sharing about the complexities and wonder of being human. The stillness helped me process all the thoughts and feelings that used to just buzz endlessly in my head. My hyped-up nervous system slowly started resetting itself. That deep sense of calm started spreading through me.
Those winter months helped me to loosen my death grip on the whole "productivityproductivityproductivity" mindset. I tried to stop pushing so damn hard. The rhythm of working hard, then recovering. The rhythm of energy and stillness in balance. That rhythm has been playing out on this planet long before we got here. I know it sounds cheesy, but winter's steady presence was the wake-up call I clearly needed to realign with nature's wisdom.
And the wildest part? Even as I still get those giddy kid-on-Christmas vibes when the first daffodils start popping up, I realize now that Donner Lake's biggest lesson was this: By giving ourselves that guilt-free permission to occasionally pause and restore with no agenda for stretches, we start tuning into a much deeper, sustainable rhythm that brings our lives into balance.
When we stop treating rest and recharging like it's the enemy, that's when the good stuff happens. That's when we get unstuck and tap into those nourishing wellsprings of healing, creativity, and reconnecting with our truest selves and the world around us.
Here's the real kicker, though - those sacred gifts of winter, the isolation, the retreat, the sweet stillness? They don't have to be completely relegated to just that one season. Get this - I'm wrapping up this piece on May 4, 2024, and you'll never believe the scene outside. We've got a fresh 10 inches of powder on the ground, and the highway is closed. Just when you think winter is finally done, bam! She hits us with a reminder to rest. But you know what? I'm kind of digging it. We can choose to welcome those restorative practices all year round if we want. Winter's vibe of slowing down can infuse every single season with its potent rejuvenating magic.
.Happy Spring, friends. Kick ass… and rest.
Xo- k
Are you winter-slow-down-curious? Do you want to rest and rejuvenate but are unsure how to get out of your own way? Let's talk about tapping into your internal wisdom and giving you permission to pause. Schedule a chat here: https://calendly.com/kcbcoaching/1-1-life-coaching-discovery-call-with-karen-caton-brunings
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