Hello dear ones,

“Accept the seasonality of all things, including yourself.”

I needed that reminder. Do you?

Lately, I’ve noticed a familiar pattern in myself. I am on fire creatively. And yet I have all these pages of half-baked writing ideas and outlines. I’m in the middle of drafting a brochure for my small business. I’m waiting for photos from my June photoshoot so I can update my website. Conversations with clients are sparking new ideas. Future events are percolating. Even this newsletter has been floating in my mind for some days.

However, very little feels near finished or ready to be made public.

I’ve found myself wondering why. Why am I not in prolific writing mode? Why aren’t ideas coming together as quickly as they sometimes do? Why does everything feel like it’s hovering just below the surface? Why do I just want to sit longer and longer on my meditation cushion?

I’ve realized I’m in a season of incubation. Again.

The creativity is murmuring, gathering, threading, connecting dots. Things are developing, not quite ready to emerge.

And you know what? I've been here before.

And this isn’t the first time I’ve initially mistaken incubation for stagnation. Every time, I wonder if I’ve somehow lost my momentum. And every time, I eventually remember: Oh right! This is gestation mode.

This season is asking me to trust the creative unfolding in its own time instead of trying to rush or force it.

Nature doesn’t expect every season to produce fruit. Spring doesn’t apologize for being full of new growth instead of ripe apples. Winter isn’t lacking because the garden appears still. Each season has its own purpose, and each prepares the way for the next.

Somehow, we humans usually forget to extend ourselves that same insight.

We live in a culture that encourages us to always be producing, improving, accomplishing, deciding, and moving forward. But our inner, energetic lives cannot always follow that timeline. Sometimes we’re building. Sometimes we’re resting. Sometimes we’re grieving. Sometimes we’re healing. Sometimes we are wallowing in the slack tide. Sometimes we’re gathering the experiences that will eventually become wisdom.

We tend to judge ourselves by the season we’re in instead of recognizing that every season is participating in who we’re becoming.

Here in Seattle, summer invites us outside with these long, beautiful days. As I’ve written about recently, it’s a season I’ve intentionally learned to protect, where I try to create more spaciousness and leave a little more room for play.

This year, though, again, my gratitude lives alongside grief. Across Washington, Oregon, Canada, and many other parts of the world, communities are coping with another devastating wildfire season. Here in the Pacific Northwest, some have begun referring to it as the “fifth season.” It’s a reminder that seasons aren’t inherently good or bad. Some bring abundance. Others bring destruction. Often alongside one another.

Yoga practice itself certainly doesnt prevent life’s seasons from coming or going, nor would we ask that. It can, however, help us meet those changes with more steadiness. More openness and curiosity. Less resistance to wishing things were different.

So wherever you find yourself today – in a season of growth, grief, transition, compromise, healing, abundance, uncertainty, or incubation – I hope you’ll remember that it’s ok and it will change.

Perhaps my invitation for you here today is simply to notice where you are... allow yourself to be there... and resist the urge to rush into what comes next.

I’ve included a guided meditation below for you. May it be useful.

With love,
Nicole

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A Season of Incubation

Nicole Bratt Yoga