When the Cold Teaches Stillness

I barely blinked and October is fading.
Somehow, I’m back in Norway, with the same suitcase I haven’t unpacked all week.
Maybe because a part of me is still unsure if I’ve really arrived. The cold teaches stillness and yet it also awakens the doubts that never seem to leave.

Being here, every day brings questions.
Sometimes it’s just the draft in the room or the cold brushing my knees that makes the mind fixate,
ignoring everything else — dreams, plans, even the quiet pleasures we usually take for granted: warm running water, a little dry room that belongs only to me, the stillness that asks nothing in return.

Peace is so easy to overlook. And maybe so is courage.
Because courage isn’t a shout.
It’s the quiet voice that whispers, “Try again.” The cold teaches stillness, but it also teaches patience, reminding us that growth often comes in slow, subtle, uncomfortable ways.

It’s strange how quickly we forget what it means to live without comfort. Two months away, and I’m adjusting all over again.
And with that come new doubts — about life, about choices.
Our brain wants to protect us, to keep stress at bay, which often leads us to the easy decisions. They feel safe. Comfortable. But are they?

Even when I think I haven’t moved, when it feels like I’m stuck in the same place,
I remember — growth often looks like this: slow, subtle, uncomfortable.
A gentle pull toward yourself, learning to stay present in a space that isn’t always cozy.

Each cold morning, each simple task, each small ritual of daily life
strips away another layer of what I thought I was.
Piece by piece, I uncover what’s real.
It hurts. It’s hard. But it’s the quiet process of becoming.

Freedom means tears — and I’ve cried them. I’ll probably cry more. I expected that.
The last days were rough — I cursed the cold, the work, the exhaustion, even my own impatience.

And yet, in all this stillness, in all this discomfort,
I find a subtle magic:
the quiet courage to keep going, the patience to notice the small, fleeting wonders,
and the reminder that even in doubt, even in cold, we are moving forward.

If you’re interested in exploring the choices behind the stillness, read my next reflection: When the Mind Hesitates and the Heart Knows