It is winter in Washington — real winter. Not just mid-50s, open-jacket winter, but hat-and-gloves, zipped-parka winter. Temps-in-the-teens, see-your-breath winter. Our old house, with its myriad windows and doors, is leaking heat, and the arctic air is seeping in through cracks and crevices. I’m closing curtains in our chilly dining room, with its three doors to the outside and four windows.

I keep my coat on when I walk in the house. I beeline for the teapot. I stay inside, cooking, for once. Chicken tetrazzini, sweet potato and kale soup, homemade tomato sauce — all in one week. That’s pretty good for me.

I spent almost an entire day last week inside reading a page-turner. It felt as decadent as a spa day.

I bought a soft, luxurious throw at HomeGoods recently. Not a minute after walking through my door, I was on the couch and under the blanket, drifting off to the dulcet tones of Wolf Blitzer reporting the latest, worst news.

A self-declared warm-weather girl, I was surprised to feel disappointment at a temporary reprieve from the cold snap. One day last week the high reached the mid-60s, and people were out jogging and walking their dogs. I had just settled into the snuggle mode of the season and wasn’t ready for the spring-like shift. The change threw me, forced me from my cocoon too early.

I anxiously checked the weather and was relieved to see the mild temps plummeting in a few days. I wouldn’t have to emerge for long — I could retreat back into my puffy coat with the furry hood, wear my socks to bed, sip my chai tea latte.

The new year may be a time for rejuvenation, but for me, this one has felt like a time for contemplation. Instead of resolutions I am thinking about intentions, and focusing on one word instead of a list of “to-do’s.”

That word is return. Return to myself, my goals, and in general, the present. Life presents distraction — my own goals are buried under the daily tasks of home and family-keeping. The projects that I want to pursue are in sight yet not graspable, as if sitting at the bottom of a pool. They don’t float to the top the way carpool pickups and appointment making and grocery shopping do. They lie in wait for the water to drain.

But maybe the winter is what’s needed to reach those depths. The cold brings more silence, less doing. More staying, less going. That’s not my usual world. Right now, I am accepting instead of fighting the freeze and all that it brings. Except, of course, when the season suddenly turns on its head. But that upending also makes me realize how much I need this time to pause, and dive inward.