Released on the first of each month, this seasonal write-along follows the changing rhythm of the seasons as an invitation to pause — to notice yourself and the world around you as it moves through everyday life.

Each monthly edition offers a quiet guide to the month ahead — a way to slow the pace just enough to see what is already there, in the light, the air, on the kitchen table, in the simple habits of daily living. A place to settle into the season you are in and find small moments of joy in the ordinary.

This January write-along invites you to notice winter through light, sky, and atmosphere — small sensory details that support a calmer way of living.

The beauty of the low winter sun
Throughout January, the sun stays close to the horizon. Even on clear days, it never rises high, casting longer shadows and a softer kind of light. This low angle gives winter its particular brightness — pale and reflective, sometimes sharper than summer light. It is the kind of light that lingers on walls and pavements, making ordinary scenes feel quietly defined.

Cold, clearer skies
January nights are often among the clearest of the year. Cold air holds less moisture, allowing stars to appear brighter and more precise. On clear evenings, constellations feel closer, easier to trace — as if the sky itself has been sharpened.

From the seasonal kitchen — January tends to lean on vegetables that store well, cook slowly, and feel familiar.

Potatoes, carrots, onions, leek, beetroot, red cabbage, white cabbage, Savoy cabbage, pointed cabbage, Brussels sprouts, chicory, celeriac, parsnip, rutabaga, pumpkin, mushrooms, salsify, sauerkraut

These are the ones that quietly carry winter — stored, sturdy, and suited to meals that do not ask much of you.

January often arrives faster than our bodies feel ready for it. The calendar resets, inboxes refill, and suddenly we are expected to set goals, reinvent ourselves, and run. There is a cultural pressure to start strong, to know exactly what we want, to sprint before we have even taken a breath.

But a calmer year begins differently.

Real beginnings are often quiet. They start on mornings when you wake earlier than usual and sit with a warm drink before opening your phone. They begin when you write down one thought instead of a full plan. They are built through micro-choices — stretching before work, saying no to one commitment, leaving ten minutes between tasks so your brain can catch up.

Psychology tells us that sustainable change is not created by intensity, but by regulation of the nervous system.

A life can only expand at the pace your body can tolerate. January is not here to make you perfect. It is here to give you time to arrive.

In The Calmer Year, January is your anchor month — where you choose, slowly and deliberately, what actually deserves your energy. Instead of resolutions that collapse under pressure, this month asks one softer question: what kind of life is livable for you?

There is power in writing your intentions slowly. Letting them sit. Returning to them. Goals that stay are goals you can revisit without fear or urgency. Think of this month less as a launch and more as a landing — an opportunity to settle into yourself before you begin to move.

Your life does not need a dramatic overhaul. It needs room to breathe. January gives you that room.

Cooking with the seasons doesn’t have to be complicated. In fact, January is often when it feels most natural. Shops and markets offer fewer choices, and what is available tends to repeat week after week: root vegetables, stored crops, sturdy greens. The change of season becomes visible without effort — simply through what ends up on the kitchen table.

This kind of cooking makes the rhythm of the year easier to follow. You don’t need to look ahead or plan differently. The season shows itself through ingredients that keep well, cook slowly, and suit everyday meals. Noticing that shift can be a quiet way of staying connected to the time of year you are in.

One dish that fits January particularly well is a parsnip purée with hazelnuts, fried sage, and an orange–maple sauce. Parsnips are at their best now — naturally sweet, easy to prepare, and familiar enough to feel grounding.

The parsnips are cooked until soft, then mashed or blended with a little milk and butter into a smooth purée. Hazelnuts are toasted and roughly crushed, while fresh sage leaves are briefly fried until crisp. For the sauce, orange juice is gently warmed with a small amount of maple syrup and reduced slightly, just enough to become glossy.

The purée is spread onto a plate, finished with the hazelnuts and sage, and topped with the warm orange–maple sauce. It’s a simple combination, but one that clearly belongs to winter.

This is how seasonal cooking works in January. Not as a rule to follow, but as something you notice — through ingredients that repeat, flavours that deepen, and meals that quietly mark where you are in the year.