This year marks my first true East Coast winter after thirty-six years beneath the California sun. It feels a little like stepping into an old storybook — the kind with frost-kissed windows, wool blankets, and fires that crackle as they warm the bones. I’ve spent my whole life in a place where seasons blur and the sky rarely changes, and now I find myself craving the rhythm of something slower, deeper, more cyclical.
As the days grow shorter and the air turns sharp, I’m learning to welcome the stillness — to find beauty in the pause. There’s something sacred about allowing nature to lead, about listening to her cues and following her pace. The trees let go without fear; maybe we can too.
I imagine nights wrapped in cashmere and candlelight, long talks by the fire, simple meals that fill the house with warmth, laughter echoing through the kitchen. I want this season to be about tenderness — the kind that lingers in small gestures and quiet moments. About finding joy in the mundane — a perfectly folded napkin, a pot of soup simmering on the stove, the sparkle of champagne under soft light.
It’s also one of the busiest seasons of the year for so many of us, especially those of us building something from the heart. The pace quickens, the to-do lists lengthen, and the pressure to “do it all” can feel relentless. But this year, I’m choosing to move differently. To honor my limits. To be intentional about what I say yes to and how I show up — both for my business and my family.
For me, that means fewer frantic moments and more mindful ones. More time spent creating, cooking, and crafting with my kids. More dinners that stretch long into the evening. More laughter and less hurry.
I can already feel the magic of this new chapter — the first true frost, the stillness that hangs in the air before snow, the way the world softens when the holidays draw near. I can’t wait to see New York City through my children’s eyes — the glittering lights, the big trees, the sense that for a few weeks, wonder is everywhere.
As I settle into this new rhythm, I’m reminded that change is both an ending and a beginning. The cold asks us to draw inward, but it also gives us space to dream, to restore, to listen. I hope you’ll do the same — find your version of stillness, of warmth, of wonder.
Here’s to slower mornings, cozy nights, and the quiet magic that comes from truly being where you are. Here’s to closing out the year not with exhaustion, but with gratitude — for what we’ve built, for what we’ve learned, and for what’s still to come.
Stay warm, stay tender, and let yourself soften. The best kind of transformation often begin in the quiet.
With love,
Anna
Founder, Zepplin the Label
