The Season of Life I Don’t Want To Be In

The other day, I was buckling my daughter into her car seat when she looked up at me with those big, wonder-filled eyes and said, “Dad, I love winter.”

I laughed because I knew she meant the kind of winter a child sees—the kind filled with snowflakes and sled rides.

The kind that makes the world feel magical.

I pulled her straps tight, smiled back, and said, “I’m learning to love winter. But hopefully, one day, I do.”

She was talking about the world outside, but I was talking about something else.

Because right now, winter isn’t just what’s happening outside my window.

It’s what’s happening inside of me.

Everything feels slower. Tighter. Uncertain.

Like I’m in a holding pattern, waiting for something to break open, for clarity to come, for new growth to start pushing through.

But it hasn’t come. Not yet.

And the truth is, I don’t love winter.

I don’t love the shedding. The contraction. The way life strips away everything I once held onto so tightly.

I don’t love the discomfort of not knowing what’s next.

But as I closed the car door and walked around to the driver’s side, I kept thinking about what she said.

She loves winter.

What would it take for me to love it, too?

Not just endure it. Not just push through it. But actually love it?

Because when I look at nature, winter isn’t just an absence of movement. It’s a season of deep work, the kind we can’t see. 

The animals aren’t lost; they’re resting.
The trees aren’t dead; they’re conserving energy.
The seeds aren’t failing; they’re waiting for the right conditions. 

What if the same thing is true for me? And, for you?

What if the silence isn’t empty, but full? 
What if, instead of resisting this season, I could trust it?
What if nothing is “wrong,” but something is being made right?
​
​This is the heartbeat of my coaching work. Not forcing outcomes, but creating the capacity to hold the tension of the unknown.

Because the one thing I know is this: Spring always comes.

And when it does, the trees will bloom again. The frozen ground will soften. The seeds will push their way toward the light.

But none of that happens without winter.

So if you’re in a winter season, too—if things feel slow, uncertain, or stripped bare—just know this...

Nothing is wasted. Not this season. Not this waiting. Not this quiet work happening beneath the surface.

You are becoming something greater you can’t yet see.

And maybe, just maybe, one day, we’ll look back and realize…

We learned to love winter, after all.

As always, I'm rooting for you. We're in this together.

-Caleb

P.S. In case you were wondering where we were going when I was buckling my daughter into her car seat—we were on a mission to get frozen yogurt, duh!