It's February, and I am sluggish. Not just a little tired, not just needing another coffee, but a deep, soul-level sluggishness that no productivity hack or morning routine tweak can fix. And I have a theory: Maybe we aren't meant to thrive all year round. Maybe, just maybe, we were built to hibernate.

The world around us suggests it. Trees drop their leaves and conserve energy. Bears retreat into dens, lowering their metabolism and heart rate, riding out the cold in a state of restorative stillness. Even some human cultures embrace seasonal slowing. The Danish have "hygge," a celebration of coziness and contentment in winter's grasp. In parts of Norway, the concept of "koselig" encourages warm gatherings and a general surrender to the long, dark season. But here we are, stubbornly forcing ourselves to churn out the same level of productivity in February that we did in July. Hustle culture, with its endless mantras about grinding, optimizing, and outworking the competition, has no patience for the body's natural cycles. "Rise and grind" doesn't take seasonal affective disorder into account. "No days off" never met a week of freezing rain.

As Katherine May writes in "Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times," "Wintering brings about some of the most profound and insightful moments of our human experience, and wisdom resides in those who have wintered." May argues that winter isn't just a season. It's a necessary pause, a time for reflection and restoration, a recognition that we are cyclical beings, not machines.

But we resist. We fight against the pull to slow down, convinced that if we just push through, we'll come out stronger on the other side. We drink more caffeine, guilt ourselves for wanting an extra hour of sleep, and compare our winter output to the highlight reels of others who appear to be thriving. We forget that nature doesn't bloom all year round, and we shouldn't either.

What if, instead of forcing ourselves to move at the same pace all year, we embraced our own form of hibernation? Not literal cave-dwelling (tempting as that may sound), but a seasonal shift in expectations.

We could work fewer hours in winter or set gentler goals. Maybe we let ourselves read more books, take more baths, and stop punishing ourselves for not feeling as energetic as we did in the sunlit days of summer. Maybe we honor winter as a time for creative dormancy, trusting that the rest we take now will lead to renewal in the months ahead.

Poet and writer Mary Oliver, who spent much of her life observing and learning from nature, once asked, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" She did not say, "Tell me, how many unchecked boxes will you accumulate?" or "Tell me, how will you out-hustle your peers?"

Part of living fully is acknowledging that our lives, like the natural world, move in seasons.

And here's the thing: Rest is not an end in itself. It is preparation. As we hibernate through these colder months, we are not withdrawing from the world forever. We're gathering strength.

Because once spring arrives, we will need to rise. We will need to shake off the weight of winter and step forward with clarity and purpose. Our democracy is not self-sustaining; it requires engaged, energized citizens. If we allow ourselves to truly rest now, we will be ready to fight when it matters most. We will be able to protest, advocate, and build a better future instead of leaning on the past.

So, if you are feeling sluggish, too, consider the possibility that your body is not betraying you — it is speaking to you. It tells you that winter is not the time to conquer but to rest and prepare. The bears, the trees, and the long Scandinavian nights might be onto something. And maybe, just maybe, the smartest thing we can do right now is listen and make sure that when the thaw comes, we are ready to rise.

Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To find out more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Greg Pappas at Unsplash