Today is the Winter Solstice — the longest night of the year and the quiet turning point where the light begins to return. This letter explores the power of naming the darkness within us, not to eradicate it, but to loosen its grip and create real capacity for change in the year ahead.

Mid-December can feel like a season of quiet unraveling. This letter is for anyone trying not to lose themselves while the world pulls hard — a grounded reminder that staying with yourself, even imperfectly, is enough.

There’s a quiet arrogance that arises when we assume something isn’t ours to care about simply because it doesn’t touch our front door. But there’s also a soul-deep exhaustion when we try to hold it all. Somewhere in between lives the practice of becoming a vessel—not a container. This letter invites us to walk the razor’s edge of humanity, presence, and responsibility—without collapsing, and without turning away.

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from thinking so much we forget we have a body. We calculate, anticipate, intellectualize—and somewhere in the maze of analysis, the voice of our body grows quiet. But we are not broken for this. We are practiced. And there’s another way. Our body holds the map our mind has been searching for. And the next step isn’t more thinking—it’s noticing. One sensation, one breath, one heartbeat at a time.