Stumbling Into Sustainability: Polar Opposites

Every winter, when the temperatures plunge and the sun slips away by mid-afternoon, two distinct camps of people quietly materialize: Team Hibernation and Team Arctic Explorer.

The Hibernators stockpile tea, stack books within arm's reach, hunt for new soup recipes, and burrow deep under fuzzy blankets. The Explorers sharpen skate blades, wax skis, and track snowfall forecasts with the intensity of sports fans awaiting playoffs.

This isn't a contest laced with judgment. Some folks simply aren't built for winter outdoors and that's perfectly fine. Others can't fathom being cooped up indoors for months and that's fine too. What counts is discovering a way to make winter feel healthy and fulfilling rather than merely survivable. And sometimes you have to stumble through multiple experiences before you find the right fit.

For many, though, winter preference edges into something more physiological than personal taste.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), a recognized subtype of major depressive disorder with a clear seasonal pattern, about 5% of adults in the U.S. experience SAD and it typically lasts about 40% of the year. The prevalence of SAD varies with geographical latitude, age and sex. The prevalence increases at higher latitudes with SAD being more common in people living far from the equator where there are fewer daylight hours in the winter. Younger people and women are also at higher risk. 

The symptoms are familiar to anyone who's felt winter settle heavily: persistent low mood, loss of interest in once-enjoyed activities, crushing fatigue, oversleeping, surging carbohydrate cravings (no wonder I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession with mac and cheese), foggy concentration, and a pull toward social withdrawal. Shorter days throw circadian rhythms into disarray. Winter doesn't merely alter the landscape; it reshapes brain chemistry. This article from the University of Minnesota serves as a direct example of why people in our area should be aware of the causes and symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder.

In any debate between Team Hibernation and Team Explorer, we must face this truth: sometimes staying inside isn't laziness. Sometimes the simple advice to "just go outside" demands more detail, more encouragement because climbing out of my mountains of blankets feels more daunting than it should.

Team Balance

Then there's a third, quieter group, the person who once balanced winter comfortably. I used to belong there.

Winter felt tolerable because a plane ticket waited twice a month to take me back to the sunny southwest. I could escape to the warm, bright atmosphere of Las Vegas. Somewhere outdoor swimming pools were open and I could wear a bathing suit and sandals in defiance of the calendar. I could rollerskate in shorts under the morning sun with my iced coffee. That southern escape served as a pressure valve, a mid-season exhale, a reminder that the sun hadn't vanished forever.

Life changed. The warm weather reset vanished from the schedule. The suitcase gathered dust in the closet. Without that bright dot on the horizon, winter stretched longer, heavier.

I still want to love it. I own the boots. I know how to layer. I follow outdoor enthusiasts on social media (shoutout to https://www.instagram.com/neaturenora/), half-hoping inspiration will seep in through well, anything. But the old motivation doesn't show up the same way. The cold clings. The dark extends. The internal cheerleading sounds thinner, less convincing.

Winter boots and snow. Photo by Liz B.

It's nothing dramatic; it’s a slow, subtle erosion. I'm not fully Team Hibernation; I don't want to vanish indoors until spring (contrary to popular belief). I'm not Team Arctic Explorer either; I'm not charging into subzero windchill declaring it "invigorating!" I'm somewhere in the middle: wistful, readjusting, a little nostalgic for those February airport departures, and still searching for what winter can look like now.

I am the type of person who needs to be incentivized to go outside during winter. I need a new adventure or a purpose. I'm not one of those people who steps into the cold just to savor the beauty of it—I look for new classes, new workouts, new restaurants. Literally anything that can spark me to do more, be more, experience more, because deep down, I want to.

This particular winter, I got a chance at exactly that kind of experience—one that reconnected me with a love and appreciation for winter that's been missing, and that I've missed. I was gifted the opportunity to attend a Boreal Bliss yoga retreat at Deep Portage Learning Center. A whole weekend dedicated to yoga and self-care, packed with activities: yoga sessions, journaling, the option for a sunrise hike (not my jam, too early and way too cold), snowshoeing, a climbing wall, and what turned out to be my winter saving grace this year, a sauna and cold plunge.

Yes, a cold plunge. Because even someone like me can appreciate icy, brisk water and snow after sitting in a 165-degree sauna for 15 minutes. The back-and-forth between heat and cold? Absolutely priceless. It was refreshing to enjoy the cold air again in a way that felt approachable and even enjoyable.

My retreat time. Photo by Liz B.

Don't get me wrong, I'm never going to be full Team Arctic Explorer. But maybe I can ease back toward that middle ground.

Team Hibernation approaches the season as an invitation to retreat with purpose rather than conquer the elements. Candlelight glows by 4:30 p.m. Soup simmers slowly on the stove. Hobbies that never required mittens resurface. Psychologist Kari Leibowitz, in her work on winter mindset (including her book How to Winter), shows how powerfully perspective shapes seasonal well-being. In communities enduring extreme northern darkness, people often thrive emotionally when they frame winter as meaningful instead of miserable.

How to Winter by Kari Leibowitz, PhD

Embracing the season doesn't demand ice fishing at dawn. It can look like morning light therapy, lowered productivity expectations, prioritizing sleep, building warmth and ritual at home, and scheduling gentle, low-pressure connections. Team Hibernation asks: Why fight the season when even bears have it figured out? It's difficult logic to refute.

Team Arctic Explorer counters from the other side: cheeks flushed, eyes bright, quietly proud of their wool layers. Blogs like "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" capture the quiet magic: the hush after fresh snow, the satisfying crunch underfoot, the stark brilliance of a frozen world.

Balance Brings Flexibility

For those prone to seasonal lows, daytime outdoor movement often delivers real relief. Natural light helps reset circadian rhythms. Physical activity floods the system with endorphins and eases depressive symptoms. Even short bursts outdoors yield measurable psychological gains. Team Explorer insists: The sun hasn't left, you just have to step out to meet it.

Sunlight through the window. Photo by Liz B.

The true debate, though, isn't indoors versus outdoors. It's rigidity versus flexibility.

Force yourself into a role that doesn't fit whether winter marathoner or full-time blanket burrito and resentment toward the season builds. Ignore genuine signs of seasonal depression, and winter can quietly deepen them.

Leibowitz's insights offer something liberating: well-being in winter depends less on mimicking someone else's approach and more on crafting your own. Perhaps that means a noon walk a few days a week, a light therapy lamp humming in the kitchen, declining draining commitments, hosting soup night instead of battling a blizzard, or gently trying one new thing without self-imposed pressure.

You have permission to adjust.

You're allowed to love winter.

You're allowed to hate it.

You're allowed to miss that warm weather sunshine.

You're allowed to rebuild your rhythm slowly.

Winter isn't a thing to conquer. It's a season to navigate with awareness, a touch of humor, and generous self-compassion.

Maybe this time, I am not quite stumbling into awareness, but I am always stumbling into new solutions and options. So, which team are you on? Or like so many of us are you a recovering snowbird, quietly learning how to winter right where you stand?

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