This morning, I felt like my body was talking—not loudly, but very softly. It was saying, “Not today.” The winter wind outside, the quiet warmth inside. The blanket was heavy, but that weight felt good. On such a morning, my mind doesn’t want to think about work. Today, I didn’t stop that unwillingness. I just lay there, like people want to be in the winter.
Winter mornings are like that. Time seems to move a little slower. There’s a light mist on the windowpane; the sunlight hasn’t fully hardened. Everything feels soft in this light—even thoughts. Yet we harden even this soft time, filling it with a to-do list. Today, I didn’t do that.
The alarm clock rang. The sound seemed to have come through the winter and sounded more dull. I turned it off and did not sit up. I was looking at the roof. The roof looked different today—very familiar, very neutral. This gazing was like the first rest of the day.
We usually do not want to be lazy—or we want to, but we do not admit it. Because we associate shame with laziness. But winter covers that shame a little. Laziness is natural in winter. Just as trees become silent, people also want to be silent.
It took me a while to get out of bed. As soon as I put my feet on the floor, the cold hit me. That cold brought me back to reality. I slowly went to the bathroom. I saw my face in the mirror—sleepy, a little tired, a little quiet. I didn't try to fix myself today. Just as winter doesn't ask anyone to dress up, I didn't want to dress myself today either.
Making tea was the biggest task of the day. I was standing with the gas fire lit. Steam was rising from the kettle. As soon as I took the hot cup in my hand, I felt like this warmth was what I needed today. In winter, tea is not just a drink; it is a refuge.
I sat by the window with tea. There were fewer people outside, less noise. The street seemed to be lazy. Winter slows everyone down a bit. Today I didn't fight that slowness. I accepted it.
The phone was on the table. The screen was black. I didn't feel like turning it on today. Seeing others busy on a winter morning makes my own fatigue seem even greater. Today I avoided it. Today, the silence within myself was enough.
I usually get sleepy in the winter. I was hungry, but I wasn't in a hurry to cook. I ate something hot, slowly. Winter teaches people to eat slowly. It teaches them to talk slowly. It teaches them to think slowly. Today I accepted that lesson.
Our lives actually want such lazy times. But we don't give them space. I always think – it would be better if I did a little more. But no one says, 'You can survive with less.'
I sat with my sheet on in the afternoon. The sun was softening and stopping on the wall. The smell of winter was in the air. I didn't play any music, nor did I read any book. I just sat. This sitting seemed to be the work of the day. The voices in my head were gradually diminishing.
Winter turns people inward. Not outward like summer. In winter, we sit by the window, drink tea, and talk less. Today I was like that winter—silent, slow, to myself.
It got colder towards evening. I turned on the light. The room is small but comfortable. It seemed that today was nothing from the outside. But inside, I had put down a lot of weight.
As soon as I went to bed at night and got under the sheets, I felt—I didn't make any mistakes today. Not working today is not laziness but care. A little silent care for myself.
I was lazy today on purpose.
because winter teaches people —
You don't have to run all the time.
Sometimes sitting quietly in the heat is also part of survival.
