It is the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere, where I live – the time of year when darkness stretches into its fullest potential, and daylight retreats to its most confined flicker. The Solstice marks a threshold, a meeting point of endings and beginnings, where the long, dark nights hold the promise of returning light, hope and new life.

This turning point feels like the perfect moment to rekindle my professional blog, which has been dormant for a while. As I prepare for the launch of my new website, I’m reflecting on the cycles of life, work and writing. Just as the Solstice reminds us of resilience and renewal, I find I am ready to write here in this space once again and offer you something that might resonate as we step into the new year.

The Solstice is a liminal space, a pause between what has been and what is yet to come. It offers a reminder that life is more than simply extremes of light and dark but also the dance that carries on between them – the often uncomfortable spaces of transition where growth, love and life can quietly begin anew.

This turning point has been celebrated for millennia in festivals like Yule, where candles and fires are lit to honour the resilience of life and the gradual return of light. Evergreen boughs are brought into homes as a symbol of vitality that persists even in the harshest season. These traditions carry such wisdom: they remind us to embrace the darkness as an essential part of the cycle of life – to rest, reflect, and prepare for inevitable renewal.

I’ve long loved this time of year. The darkness feels like an invitation to retreat, to slow down. It’s a season of deep nourishment – though in a different way than during the long summer. In winter, nourishment feels quieter, coming not from the warmth of the sun or the abundance of flowers and foods, but from within. In the winter, I find I journal more, play more piano and cello, and spend longer periods cuddling Black the dog and Silver the cat. I sit back and noodle new work ideas, reflecting on all that I no longer want to or can do, and consider what might yet emerge.

Winter offers more space, somehow, to sit with life’s paradoxes: light and liminality, love and loss, beginnings and endings. These are not opposites, but partners in the tension of life, affecting everything from our relationships, our work and our leadership.

Winter’s darkness also mirrors my experience of grief – the way it pulls us inward, slows us down, even forces a stop, and demands that we feel the full weight of what is gone. Grief, like the Solstice, is both an ending and a beginning. It marks the loss of what we love, but also opens up a space – unwelcome for sure – for something new to grow – not to replace what was lost, but to live alongside.

In my personal and professional experiences of working with grief, I’ve learned that love and loss are utterly inseparable. To love deeply is to risk deep pain when the love, as you know it, ends, and grief is a way to honour the depth of that love. Grief feels like an eternally long season of darkness, but deep within it, there can still be a flicker of light. Over time, this flicker can transform into a quiet, steady glow that reminds us of the love we still get to carry.

Liminal spaces, like grief, are where much transformation begins. In winter, even when everything is dark and bare, I try to remind myself of all the quiet ways life and love carry on carrying on, carry on sustaining me. The warmth of a shared fire, the comfort of a familiar touch or friendly voice, the occasional Christmas card with long-loved, immediately recognisable handwriting. Love, in its purest, simplest form, is not afraid of the dark. Indeed, love joins us in the dark, offering needed presence, solace and support when life seems bereft of life.

Leadership, too, has its seasons. In summer, it’s easy to lead with energy and clarity, focusing on action and achievement. But winter asks something different of us. It asks us to lead with fewer indicators of progress. We need to be humbler and more introspective, slow down and listen deeply to discern the signs of future potential and life.

Great leadership embraces the liminal as well as the bright light. It recognises that growth requires – no, demands – endings; that we must sometimes let go of what no longer serves us to make room for something new. In these times of polycrisis, leadership is not just about moving forward and upwards; it’s about knowing that wise action comes from the spaces of pause and reflection. This is where seeds of renewal can come into being.

Winter leadership is about tending to the deepest roots. It’s about creating space for rest and restoration, for ourselves and for our teams. It’s about honouring the cycles of life and work – the light and the liminal – and leading with courage and compassion.

As we stand at this Solstice threshold, I am struck by the interplay of light and liminality in my life. Darkness, the backdrop of this season, is not simply the absence of light; it is a space of quiet gestation and possibility. Little by little, light reveals what has been nurtured in the shadows. Together, they form a cycle that shapes not only the seasons, but our inner and outer worlds.

What if we embraced both fully, as partners in the dance of life?

What if we welcomed the dark as a space of rest, reflection, and renewal, and the light as an invitation to act, to grow, to create?

What if we allowed both to guide us – in love, in grief, in leadership, in life?

Reflection Questions

As 2024 draws to a close and 2025 begins to take shape, here is an invitation to reflect on some questions:

• Endings: What has reached its natural conclusion in your life, work or leadership this year? What are you ready to release?
• Beginnings: What sparks of inspiration or possibility are calling to you? How might you nurture them in the weeks and months ahead?
• Love and Grief: How can you honour the love and the losses you carry as you step into the new year? What is grief teaching you about love? What is death teaching you about life?
• Leadership: What qualities of leadership do you want to embody (even) more fully in 2025? How might you lead with both courage and compassion, embracing the light and the liminal?

May this Solstice be a rich moment of renewal – a time to pause, reflect, and step into the coming year with grace, intention, and hope.

21 December 2024