Burns Night, Midwinter, and the Work of Holding On
There is something about this time of year. The holidays are over. The lights are packed away. The weather presses in—cold, dark, unyielding. The world feels heavy right now, in ways both personal and political. It’s a season that invites turning inward, even when you know you shouldn’t linger there too long. Last night was Burns Night, something I’ve marked for nearly thirty years. It isn’t about pageantry or performance for me anymore. It’s about pause and about gathering. And it's about remembering who we are when things feel fragile. So I cooked. Roast beef. Rolls. A few vegetable sides. Sticky toffee pudding. Nothing fancy—just food meant to anchor you. We sat around the table as a family and talked the way people do when the house is warm, and the world outside feels sharp. We reminisced. We remembered the people we’ve lost in recent years. We talked about the state of the country—how hard it feels, how brittle, how angry. We talked about democracy and how easily it fra...