We are screwed. Existential dystopia is the new normal. God died—or so the meme goes. That whole “he rose again on the third day” thing is bullshit, some say. A baby born in Bethlehem to parents so poor they couldn’t get a room. The only spot left was in the stables, laid in a feed trough full of hay and horse shit. Rough start for the Savior of the world. So here’s my question for you, reader: How the hell are you?
For decades, winter was another quarterly iteration of, “oh SHIT! I’m fucked. I’ll be living out of a shopping cart right ricky-tick.” Winter 2024 was like that. This year, thanks to Uncle Sam, the only unpaid bills are things like video streaming and Microsoft 365. How the hell am I? Not bad, actually.
Before I continue — this piece is about the usual winter grind, the kind most of us muddle through and come out the other side. But if the dark feels heavier than that — if you’re in a place where you’re thinking about hurting yourself or someone else — please talk to someone who’s trained for exactly this.
- In the US, you can call or text 988 anytime — it’s the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, free and confidential.
- Outside the US, findahelpline.com has verified numbers, texts, or chats for over 130 countries.
- If it’s urgent, call your local emergency number.
You don’t have to carry it alone. Reaching out isn’t weakness — it’s just the next practical step.
Existential Dystopia is the new normal . . . for whom? That frame is so loaded with unchallenged assumptions as to be farce. Pick your boogeyman. And your grievance against your chosen boogeyman. Third, your claim that your life is over, insert fork in you. I have questions.
Existential Pragomatic
It’s fantasmic. Walk up there escorted by a deacon to the altar. Say the sinners prayer. The congregation singing in the spirit, some flopping about up there with you. So AWESOME! Know what comes after Sunday? Monday. Stupid Monday. We had honey baked ham with the pastor yesterday after church. Breakfast Monday morning was a Food Bank bagel and some instant coffee.
We were late for work. The first half-hour of our shift was in an HR clerk’s office getting written up for punching in a minute late. Then that wasted half-hour escalated into a morning of stupid emails and phone calls from various bosses who wanted to know why our productivity was behind. Then the inevitable e-mail from some HR clerk: this is the second infraction—we’ll be on probation for three months. Merry HanaKwanzaXMas!
After work, at home, we fight with the ball and chain. There was a balanced and agreed to budget. But then a cousin messaged her about a cutoff notice for water if the bill isn’t paid. Budget schmudget. And one of the kids wants a Nintendo Switch 2
Die to Live
She . . . SHE! fucking hell! The Nintendo Switch 2 is hidden in the garage. The cousin’s water bill is paid. It’s the second week of Advent. December is covered. Their emergency fund took a hit. January? January isn’t looking good. She risked the rent on her cousin and a holiday gift.
You’ll have to read the whole post to find out how this ends. Winter is the completion of an annual cycle. It is the death of the prior year so that the next one can rise anew. It’s cold, the trees and other plant life either die or hybernate, and birds fly to warmer climates. We are fucked, goes the trope. By that frame, the guy with the spendthrift wife is without hope. It will only get worse.
Don’t believe that. Believe nature’s consistent rhythm. Where I live, we get sporadic cold weather from October through December. Then in January things warm up only to spank us again in February and March. Some of our coldest, most miserable weather comes as we recover from the gluttony we indulged in last month. Spring is coming.
Three Celebrations
Saturnalia, Advent and Lunar New Year. All three are different expressions of preparing for the coming year. I grew up with Advent, Saturnalia expressed in a binge, Lunar New Year was something new to me.
Our merchants want us to celebrate the holidays with a bacchanal. We are to overspend on generosity and decoration, over indulge in food and drink, and over spend. To greet the new year sick, hungover, and broke.
Saturnalia
Saturnalia is a Roman festival honoring the god Saturn, originally tied to the agricultural cycle and held around mid-December (December 17–23 in its later form). It celebrated a mythical “Golden Age” of abundance with role reversals (slaves served by masters), feasting, gambling, gift-giving (like candles and figurines), and general merriment—”Io Saturnalia!” was the cheerful cry. Its excess and joy influenced modern secular New Year’s Eve parties and even some Christmas customs, like wreaths, lights, and unrestrained celebration.
Advent
Advent I know well. I’ve been to Advent services hundreds of times. It is a season of expectant waiting leading to Christmas, starting four Sundays before December 25 (in 2025, it began on November 30). It’s a time of spiritual preparation for Christ’s coming—both his birth and future return—with themes of hope, peace, joy, and love. Traditions include Advent wreaths (lighting candles weekly), calendars (daily reflections or treats), and a focus on penance mixed with anticipation.
Lunar New Year
Chinese New Year to me, is a parade with drums and lion dancers. San Francisco’s Chinatown Lunar New Year Parade, one of the largest celebrations of its kind outside Asia, traces its roots to the 1860s when Chinese immigrants adapted American parade traditions to share their culture amid discrimination. Recognized as one of the world’s top ten parades, this spectacular night-illuminated event features elaborate floats, marching bands, lion and dragon dances, and the iconic 288-foot Golden Dragon maneuvered by over 100 performers.
I got a cultural smack upside the head when I visited my ex-wife’s family in Taiwan for Lunar New Year. There was no parade. Instead we spent a busy two weeks before the new year preparing for it. We got new clothes, hair cuts, and ate at buffets near the family home in Beitou (北投). There’s no major organized parade—instead, the energy is in private gatherings, fireworks from homes, and quieter outings (like soaking in Beitou’s hot springs during the chilly February weather). The celebrations culminate in the Lantern Festival about two weeks later, with beautiful lantern displays across the country.
If you know, you know. If you don’t, count yourself lucky. That Taiwanese pace is no joke—it’s relentless in the best and most exhausting way. Locals often pack schedules to the brim because time with family or guests is precious, and there’s this cultural drive to “show you everything” so you get the full experience: temples at dawn, night markets till midnight, day trips squeezed in between meals with relatives. For someone not wired that way, it can feel like a marathon with no water breaks. I lived through a winter of discontent in a Taiwanese resort town.
Three Cold and Dark Months
Winter sucks. For three cold and dark months existential dystopia is the new normal. It’s cold, dark too early, everything feels stripped bare. Sometimes it hits like we’re just stuck in this endless freeze. The memes nail it: bleak skies, frozen ground, that heavy quiet where nothing seems to move forward.
But here’s the thing: it’s just a season. It’s a deep breath the world takes before it exhales green again. Soon we’ll hit solstice—the longest night of the year. Right after the light starts coming back. Minute by minute, day by day.
Those bare branches? They’re not dead—they’re loaded with buds, just waiting for the signal. Flowers punch right through the snow saying, “Move, winter. We’re done here.”
Ancient festivals knew this. They didn’t pretend winter was fun—they lit fires, feasted, swept out the old, and looked each other in the eye and said: Hold on. The turn is coming. So yeah. Winter sucks. But it’s just a season. Spring is coming. It always does.
Now is the Winter of Our Discontent
You hit the solstice moment and decide, against all the evidence your tired brain is screaming at you, to bet on spring anyway. You light the candle, sweep the floor, or write the hopeful text then choose absurd hope. And then… nothing magical happens. The room doesn’t suddenly flood with sunlight. The weight doesn’t lift.
It still feels dark, cold, pointless. The old momentum is still rolling downhill, and your little push upward feels ridiculous, like trying to stop a freight train with a feather. That’s normal. That’s the part that isn’t a light switch.
The first few days after the solstice, the daylight increase is measurable but invisible to the naked eye—literally minutes added, too small to notice. You have to trust the math, the ancient pattern, the fact that it’s worked every single year for millennia. Same with personal winters: the shift starts before you can feel it. The buds swell long before they open. The roots are working in the dark.
So yeah, early on, absurd hope feels like lying to yourself. Like play-acting optimism while the hopelessness still has the louder voice. The cure isn’t a better feeling. The cure is persistence. Keep sweeping even if dust keeps settling. Keep walking, reaching, choosing—day after day after day—until one morning you notice the light lingering a little longer, or the weight feeling a fraction lighter, or something small actually moving forward.
Minute by Minute
Closing a loop. That family who spent December money on a Nintendo Switch 2 and a cousin’s water bill? They go to the same church as the cousin and her family. Word got around that the family took care of things for that cousin. An elder asked about account numbers for the light bill, the trash bill, and the rent. Odd. Christmas week comes and Mom & Dad do their usual end of month sit down. One by one they sign in to the payment accounts for lights, trash and rent. Paid in full. WTF?! How? Is this bullshit?
It is not bullshit. It is how it works. When we are lowest, when it seems certain that we are screwed, existential dystopia is the new normal for us, something turns in our favor and we get our first hint of spring. Hold on. Spring is coming. One more thing. The timeclock issue that blew up? Turns out there was an outage and the timeclock was off. HR quietly corrected the record. No apologies but probation disappeared.