Reflections on Skandinavisk Sentimentalitet: Navigating the Seasons and Emotions through Meditation

As a Buddhist teacher, I often reflect on how deeply our environment shapes the mind, body, and heart. In the Nordic countries, there is a unique phenomenon, often referred to as Skandinavisk sentimentalitet—a melancholic, reflective mood that seems to ebb and flow with the changing seasons. It’s not just an individual experience, but a collective emotional atmosphere, woven into the fabric of daily life. This mood, shaped by long, dark winters and fleeting summers, carries a quiet intensity, inviting us to contemplate the deeper aspects of our inner world.

But what exactly is Skandinavisk sentimentalitet, and how does it affect us as meditators? How can we work with these shifting emotional landscapes on the cushion?

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The Emotional Flow of the Seasons

In these northern lands, the seasons are more than mere changes in weather; they are emotional currents that shape the way we feel, think, and relate to the world. The long, dark winters seem to call us inward. In the stillness of snow-covered forests and cities, we often feel a quiet pull toward introspection, even melancholy. The cold and scarcity of light can make our emotional landscape feel barren, as though the heart itself is frozen, heavy with the weight of stillness.

Yet, in Buddhism, we learn that suffering is not something to avoid but to sit with, gently and with curiosity. The mind in winter reflects the external world—still, silent, sometimes heavy with shadow. If we can sit with this emotional stillness, we may begin to understand that it holds its own wisdom. The heart feels the weight of winter’s melancholy, but it also carries the potential for deep, quiet insight. This is the practice of being with what is, without pushing away discomfort.

And then, as the seasons turn, the first glimpses of spring appear. Light breaks through the darkness, and the emotional tone begins to shift. There’s a sense of hope, of possibility—a flicker of joy amidst the cold. In Scandinavian culture, this feeling is often captured in the word glimtar—those brief, radiant moments of light, of warmth, of emotional clarity that begin to break through the veil of winter.

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As meditators, we learn to cherish these glimtar. These flashes of light and joy remind us that even when our minds feel clouded, there is always a natural clarity within, waiting to emerge. In meditation, these moments of peace and emotional release are like the first buds pushing through the snow. We don’t cling to them, but we notice them with tenderness, aware of their impermanence. Just as the light of spring returns after winter, so too does the mind return to its natural luminosity.

Working with Emotions through Seasonal Awareness

When we sit in meditation, we are entering a practice of deep awareness—not only of the mind but also of the body and emotions. Just as the body responds to the changing seasons, so too do our emotions rise and fall, shift and change.

In winter, our emotional landscape often mirrors the external world—quiet, still, and perhaps heavy with sadness. The practice here is to observe the mind’s pull toward melancholy without resistance. Winter’s emotional heaviness can feel isolating, but if we can sit with it, there is an opportunity to deepen our understanding of ourselves. On the cushion, we learn to sit with our sadness, to feel the weight of it in the body, noticing how it manifests in the chest, the shoulders, the breath. There’s a stillness in winter that invites us to rest in the simplicity of being, without needing to chase after happiness or avoid discomfort.

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Then comes spring, and with it, emotional lightness. The first glimtar of joy, hope, and renewal arise. In these moments, our hearts feel more open, expansive, and we can begin to soften around the edges of our winter-weary emotions. But just as the sun breaks through the clouds only to disappear again, these emotions are fleeting. The practice here is to savor them without grasping. We can notice the warmth spreading through the body, the lightness in our breath, and the subtle joy arising in the heart. Spring teaches us that emotions, like the weather, are transient—no emotion is permanent, neither sadness nor joy.

Summer, with its long days and abundant light, brings a sense of emotional expansiveness. The heart feels more open, the mind less burdened by the heaviness of winter. But even in this openness, there is practice. The emotions of summer—joy, energy, excitement—can pull us outward, scattering our attention. On the cushion, the practice is to stay present with these feelings without becoming swept away. We ground ourselves in the breath, noticing the warmth in the body, the soft rise and fall of the chest. Summer’s emotions can feel boundless, but mindfulness teaches us to stay centered, appreciating each moment without attachment.

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As autumn approaches, there is an emotional shift again—one of reflection and release. The falling leaves remind us of the impermanence of all things. We may feel a soft sadness, a gentle longing, or even a sense of nostalgia as the days grow shorter and the air cools. In meditation, autumn invites us to practice letting go. Just as the trees release their leaves, we too learn to release our attachment to the fleeting joys of summer. We feel the emotions of autumn—the quiet sadness, the bittersweet beauty—and allow them to be just as they are, without clinging or resistance. The breath here becomes a steady anchor, a reminder of the cyclical nature of all things.

Mindfulness of the Body, Thoughts, Emotions and Mind in Every Season

As meditation practitioners, we cultivate a deep awareness of the body, breath, and mind, allowing ourselves to experience the full range of emotions as they arise in each season:

• In Winter, we sit with the quiet and the heaviness. We notice how the body feels sluggish, how the breath moves slowly, and how the mind tends to drift inward. We allow ourselves to feel the weight of melancholy, using it as an opportunity to deepen our connection with stillness. The practice here is one of patience and acceptance, learning to be with the darker emotions without trying to change or escape them.
• In Spring, we tune into the glimtar—those moments of light and joy that flicker through the remnants of winter’s emotional coldness. We notice how the body responds to the first signs of warmth, how the breath feels lighter, and how the heart begins to soften. The practice here is one of appreciation without clinging, recognizing the fleeting nature of joy and allowing it to arise and pass away naturally.
• In Summer, we ground ourselves in the midst of emotional expansiveness. We feel the energy in the body, the aliveness in the breath, and the openness of the heart. But we also stay present, mindful of how quickly these feelings can scatter our attention. The practice here is one of balance, enjoying the warmth and lightness without losing our center.
• In Autumn, we practice letting go. We feel the emotions of reflection and nostalgia, noticing how the body softens, how the breath becomes more contemplative, and how the mind turns inward once again. The practice here is one of release—letting go of both the light and the darkness, understanding that all emotions, like the seasons, are impermanent.

Through this practice, we learn to work with the Skandinavisk sentimentalitet rather than against it. Each season, with its unique emotional tone, becomes a teacher, reminding us of the natural ebb and flow of the mind and heart. By embracing the changing emotional landscapes on the cushion, we find that the practice of meditation is not about escaping our emotions, but about understanding them more deeply, resting in the wisdom of impermanence.

To watch and listen to a teacher conversation on this topic between myself and the international yoga and health coach Rebcka Latoś, go here.

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In this way, the seasons, and the emotions they evoke, become not sources of suffering, but pathways to awakening.

Yours in the Dharma,

Lama Chimey