Practices that Sustain

My husband bought me a treadmill for Christmas. A rather prosaic and new-yearish gift, to be sure, but I had asked for one. We live in the land of snow and ice, often with extra “lake effect” snow, thanks to our proximity to the eastern shore of Lake Michigan, and we also live on a countryish road at the far edge of our county, which means the snowplows’ advent is often unreliable after a storm. Our road affords me a lovely walk three seasons of the year, but not so in these wintry months. I do like a stroll out to the back pasture and into the woods, but this is also not always desirable in bad weather, either.

I spent much of 2025 punctuating my days with a good half-hour walk, and I didn’t want to pause that practice this winter. There are other options for movement, of course, but I enjoy walking. It’s good exercise, it relieves my stress, and it helps me think. I pondered joining a gym for the winter to use the treadmills there, but my husband came up trumps, and now I have a treadmill that faces a window, which is especially nice on days when the out-of-doors resembles a snow globe, as it often does.

There are countless books on practices that sustain, and I’ve read many of them. Among the popular recommendations you’ll find deep breathing, fasting, journaling, cold plunges, and meditation. I do think it’s key to realize that any list you might consult should not be taken as prescriptive; in establishing practices that sustain, your list needs to have you in mind. My list may not work for you, and that’s just fine. I’ve spent the better part of my adult years exploring, trying, practicing—and culling—all kinds of practices, from running three miles a day to drinking hot lemon water every morning. Some things have stuck for decades and become habits. Others have played a role in my days for just a time. And still others brought no joy, so they felt like chores and were eventually set aside.

Practices that sustain should do just that—sustain you in some way. They may sustain you physically, such as cutting out sugar from your diet or getting enough sleep or engaging in movement you love. They may sustain you mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Whichever quadrant of your life they fall under, they ought to help you become stronger in some way, more joyful or fulfilled. Often, they take intention and effort, especially at first. You may have to consciously make them a priority. Eventually, they may become habits, woven into the very fabric of your daily life.

I’m focusing on just a handful of practices that sustain me in this season (you’ll notice most of them are word-centric or creative): daily reading, my daily walk, recording a few lines or paragraphs in my commonplace book, keeping a one-line-a-day journal, practicing guitar, and making time for slow handicrafts (knitting, embroidery, cross-stitch), as well as establishing a few regular times every week to write. That’s it. Anything more would simply be too much.

What practices currently sustain you? Do you long for something new, something different? Which quadrants of your life could benefit from additional sustenance? If you feel, after the crazy rush of autumn and the holidays, that something in a quadrant is lacking, try to identify the gap and what might be needed to sustain you better. It may be simply that you need to restart a practice you’d paused. It may be that it’s time to carve out space for something you’ve been longing to try. I’m not talking about creating a whole new you in this new year—by no means. I am talking about taking a moment to see yourself clearly, right where you are, and asking yourself how you might scaffold your days in small and simple ways for more peace and more joy.

May you discover what you need.