Permission to Slow Down

The winter solstice arrived a week ago on Sunday, December 21. Because of the tilt of the Earth's axis, those of us in the Northern Hemisphere found ourselves tipped away from the sun – and we are now inching back toward it. Low-angled winter sun casts slanted light, a specific hue that feels at once happy and subdued, lending itself to quiet moments, reflection, and the simple act of noticing that seem to naturally arise at this time of year.

During the week between Christmas and New Year's Day, we seem to move through time differently as well. For many, work obligations slow or are put on pause. Conversations occur without glances at phones. Meals stretch longer than planned, and we linger over coffee, over board games, or over nothing in particular – and somehow that nothing feels like it may be the point. We have permission to slow down.

A conversation between Ezra Klein and the writer Oliver Burkeman at the beginning of 2025 offers a useful lens for thinking about the finite nature of our lives and time itself. Burkeman observes that we often postpone really living until we feel "in control" of our lives, until we have finally conquered the to-do list and earned the right to relax. But that moment never arrives. The invitation, Burkeman suggests, is not to finally get on top of everything, but rather to be present – while still meeting our obligations and moving in the direction of our goals – in a life that will never be fully under control.

Shayla Love, writing for The Atlantic, recently profiled a small fishing village in northern Norway called Sommarøy, located above the Arctic Circle, where the sun doesn't set for months in summer and doesn't rise for months in winter. When she tried to schedule an interview with a local kayak tour operator last summer, he told her to just drop by and see if he was available. During the endless summer light, his expedition groups operate in what researchers call "event time" based on internal rhythms – hiking when they collectively please, even at midnight, coming back for dinner at 5 a.m., waking for breakfast at 2 p.m. Paradoxically, those who live this way report feeling more, not less, in control of their lives.

While most of us cannot realistically operate in this manner, even briefly, Winter Break offers a taste – an unhurried walk in the frigid woods of Northern New England, soaking up what winter light there is; time spent really listening to our kids' observations of the world around them; a board game as a family; laughing alongside strangers during a live performance; reconnecting at a holiday gathering.

As educators at a boarding school, we wear many hats – teacher, advisor, coach, dorm parent, department member, and colleague. But the sheer volume can push us toward always moving to the next thing – the next class, the next practice, the next dorm check-in, or the next email. We risk measuring our days by what we crossed off rather than what we were present for. 

What if we carried something from this week into the winter term? Not a resolution to be more productive, but permission to slow down. For our students, this might mean protecting time for creative and artistic work in our studios, competing on the snow and ice and in the gym alongside teammates, or simply making room for shared joy and games – in groups large and small.

Everyone has rituals that recharge them and remind them of what is important. As we head into 2026, perhaps the invitation is to remember what this liminal period has felt like – when we have allowed ourselves to be a bit more present, to let time unfold differently – and to protect small pockets for this quality of attention in the months ahead.

The days are getting longer now, minute by minute, almost imperceptibly. Tomorrow the sun will set slightly later than today. A small change, but it carries with it the promise of more light – and perhaps a bit more time to spend together.

Happy New Year from all of us at Proctor!