There was a time when my Januaries were spent bookmarking every latest new-year-new-me challenge. Making promises to myself about all the manners in which I’d commit to refine my person, trim the metaphoric (and literal) fat, and try in every possible way to refresh my very existence.
These days, Alaska simplifies the process. In the deep stillness of her winter, I hear the whisper of good counsel, on how to live better, how to become stronger.
In her vastness, I am inevitably reminded of my own finiteness, of the ephemerality laden into all life — which in turn, propels me to maximize my time.
The limited amount of daylight forces a person to contend with the art of how not to waste it. So, rather than idle in the lull of quickly vanishing light, I am compelled to take action.
Watching the tides of Kachemak Bay ebb and flow onto its pebble-strewn shores teaches me a lesson on making the most of a good momentum, on knowing when to take advantage of timing, on the rhythm of my own body, and how it might feel different at any given moment.
Even the freezing cold gives me a push. How can you warm yourself up, it asks me, to which, of course, I answer: get moving! As if the snow itself is my coach, hyping me with its tough love to keep my heart rate up and my limbs in action.
The cold also invites me to nourish with foods like soup, which, in addition to being the perfect thing to sip on a frigid evening, I view as the perfect culinary vessel for robust nutrient density. A soup or chowder is an endless possibility of vegetables — an optimal way to consume clean protein, such as wild Alaskan seafood, alongside plant food and broth (hello hydration!).
In sum, the magic of Alaskan winters — despite being dark and frigid — have not at all deterred me from the goal of personal wellness. It’s quite the contrary: I chase whatever the light there is, all the while kindling the warmth within myself.
With that, I invite you to look around your own environment, to seek its lessons and to settle into the opportunities that the colder months bring.
Live Wild!
Monica
Pictured: An evergreen forest, branches bent beneath the weight of a frosting-like layer of snow, set against a softly illuminated winter sky.
Anchor Points is a collection of letters penned by the Kallenbergs. Expect equal parts culinary insights, philosophical musings, and meditations on the maritime — all with a dose of Alaskan family pride. See more weekly missives here.
