Winter’s rhythms— and the little joys that smell like cinnamon

If there is a season that takes you gently by the shoulders and says, “Hey. Slow down.” — then it’s winter.

It’s the time when nature stops pretending to be productive and simply… does nothing spectacular. And feels no guilt about it.

Every year, winter reminds me again that nature knows something we constantly forget — it knows when to stop.

For years I tried to be smarter than nature; I wanted to be a multitasking miracle. Now the years have brought a bit of wisdom — and I don’t fight as much anymore. I'm not fully there yet, but I'm trying. Maybe because nature doesn’t have to worry about lifting a business off the ground, raising teenage children, and facing everyday challenges. And because nature never feels guilty when it rests.

Still, I love that winter feeling — when I start longing for the simplest things. Silence. Tea. Snow. The fireplace. Rest. Family. Time with the people I love.

I’ll briefly reflect on a few areas of life, and how (for me) winter brings its quiet insights into each of them.

My first year swimming through entrepreneurial waters had everything it promised: excitement, fear, courage, euphoria… and moments when I wondered whether I would sink or rise to the surface. I learned that entrepreneurship is not a sprint. It’s more like a marathon — or in my language, a long climb along a winter ridge: sometimes sunshine, sometimes wind, sometimes ice beneath your feet. But every step brings something new. And just like in nature, the most important growth happens when no one sees it.

I’ll also touch on the current holiday madness, overshopping and consumerism. Maybe because I’ve seen too much of it, I avoid shopping centres. But I love decorated shop windows, the lights, the walk through old squares, and the scent of cinnamon, chestnuts and mulled wine.

This weekend I enjoyed decorating everything in a festive spirit. But when I finished, something still felt missing. So I decided to bake a winter-scented cake. Not because I had time. Not because I wanted an Instagram moment. But because I wanted to say “I love you” in a different way. And also create something warm, fragrant and sweet.

I’ll touch on parenting too — because whoever succeeds with children can succeed with anything. No crisis in a company can compare to the crisis when the internet dies, or when headphones, a phone or a laptop break. And when you have teenagers — multiply everything. And if you have four teenage souls around you, you need a lot of skill to survive all those crises while remembering that these are four souls searching for their place in the world and discovering who they are.

I often caught myself learning what patience really means. And deep breathing. The same breathing I use in my therapies has often saved my inner peace.

And if I add that I'm surrounded by software, strategies, APIs, automations and people who believe everything can be solved through systems — you get extra challenges for calming my naturally sensitive and intuitive soul.

The best detox? Turn everything off. Phone. Laptop. Notifications. And let the brain restart. No sounds. No vibrations. No pressure to be excellent every day. After 20 minutes of silence, I’m a better version of myself. After an hour — I’m running a new operating system.

Who am I when everything becomes quiet?

I realised something important: strength is not about enduring.

Strength is about renewing yourself.

And winter is perfect for renewal. You cannot see the growth, but it happens beneath the surface. That’s how my own growth happened too. One day I went for a walk, used a sunny moment and stole a bit of time for myself. I let the sun touch me.

At one moment, the sun reminded me of something simple yet essential — life is always a cycle. First rest, then preparation. Then growth. Then blooming. Then fruit. And then everything starts again — but each time with a bit more wisdom.

Thinking about cycles brought me comfort:

if nature can stop without guilt, so can I.

If a tree can let go of its leaves, trusting everything will return in its own time, then I can also release what no longer serves me.

• What is truly important?
• Which projects carry meaning, and which are just noise?
• What do I want to bring into the new year?
• And what am I ready to let melt away — like snow under the first sun?

I will remember this year for the lessons that shaped me more than any plan:

that courage is quiet,

that home is the safest harbour,

that children teach us as much as we teach them,

that a business is a living organism that grows with you,

that humour saves us,

that love smells like cinnamon,

and that peace is the greatest luxury of modern life.

I no longer count successes and failures. I count moments:

• when I dared, even though I was afraid
• when I chose peace instead of chaos
• when I said “no” without guilt
• when I cried and let go
• when I laughed and opened myself again.

And when I realised that this year I became a version of myself I am proud of — imperfect, but truly mine.

For the end — something I wish for myself, for you, and for everyone searching for themselves in winter:

May we dare to stop.

May we allow ourselves softness.

May we celebrate the small things.

May we thank ourselves, not only others.

May we bring light where the heart wants it, not where the calendar demands it.

May the house smell of something warm, something homemade.

May we find our own rhythm — even if it's different from all others.

And may the new year bring only what can fit into a peaceful soul: tenderness, courage, simplicity and the right people.