Transitions: Winter is allowed to take its time. So are we.

Some pauses take longer than we planned. Some transitions ask us to linger. 

January invited me into pause and reflection, and I accepted.

What I didn’t expect was that February would ask the same of me.

I returned from a week in Florida late on a Wednesday night. Celebration. Family. Sixty years of marriage for my parents, which feels less like an anniversary and more like a living monument. By Thursday morning, Jim and I were back at work, “easing” into a short week (or perhaps we hit the ground running a little to hard). Saturday came and, I was home again. Hot yoga. Quiet. Space.

And, I realized I had nothing in the queue for my blog.

I have no polished insight. No tidy lesson. And no takeaway waiting to be wrapped in a bow.

For a moment, that made me uncomfortable. Writing is what I do. Writers are supposed to observe, create, produce. But the truth is, I’m still resting right now. Still integrating. Still somewhere between what was and what’s next.

I’m between sentences.

There’s a strange vulnerability in admitting that. We live in a culture that rewards momentum and clarity, that asks us to move quickly from pause to purpose. But winter doesn’t work that way. Neither do bodies. Neither do hearts.

We may have honored rest in January, but winter isn’t over just because the calendar changed. Some pauses take longer than we planned. There are transitions that ask us to linger. Some seasons don’t reveal their meaning until much later.

I’m navigating a few of those thresholds at once. The transition from vacation back to work. The ongoing shift in my professional life from marketing outputs to people and culture. A quieter season with Jim, where healing is happening and, still incomplete. Nothing urgent. Nothing dramatic. Just unfinished.

And maybe that’s the point.

Waiting is uncomfortable because it offers no performance metrics. There’s nothing to prove while you’re resting. Nothing to explain while you’re listening. But there is wisdom here if we let it be what it is.

I don’t have a lesson today.

What I have is a pause that’s still doing its work.

So if you find yourself feeling a little behind, a little unformed, a little unsure of what you’re meant to say next, maybe you’re not stuck. Maybe you’re simply between sentences too.

Winter is allowed to take its time.

So are we.

©2026 Lori Ann King