Finding My Balance In Switzerland

"Not another sugar cookie," I thought. Then I ate another anyway. "No more bread, chocolates, mashed potatoes." "No more gifts! No random stocking stuffers!" I told myself.

Then I sat, clicked and paid without thinking. "How many more holiday cards should I mail? Must I curl another bow?" Anxious thoughts flurried while I overdid everything, accumulating stress heavier than snow. Excessive indoor "indulgences" made me tired, headachy and oddly chilly. Shiny objects laced with LED lights fueled nightmares.

By January, my hands turned cold and stiff from clicking. I lifted weights, rode a bike and ran on a treadmill — indoors — while gazing out windows at snow-covered trees. This pretend-outdoor sport helped me for about 10 minutes before I returned to overdoing everything, inside, all winter.

Maybe because of the exercise, I wasn't overweight. But inside, my spirit and mental health suffered. I needed to smell living trees, to feel wind, even if it was cold, on my cheeks. In Connecticut, where I lived for my last two years in the United States, the roads had no sidewalks and snow amassed on curbs. SUVs donning plastic reindeer horns whizzed by, spewing slush at 60 mph. I couldn't leave our driveway safely for a walk or run. Cross-country skiing wasn't an option. It would be treacherous. I could drive two-plus hours to a ski resort in Vermont with my three stir-crazy kids. Or not.

I grew up building snowmen and sledding down a hill at the end of my street in Michigan with neighborhood kids. We made snow forts. We clicked on cross-country skis or snow boots and slipped down sidewalks for fun the adults missed. We even made bumpy backyard ice skating rinks. So what happened? Why did I become an American grownup who endured winter indoors? Even in Northern California, where I lived for years, expensive ski resorts were out of my reach but for the occasional holiday trip. I ran on trails, hiked and mountain biked, but mostly solo. Were my neighbors outside celebrating a season of giving and receiving together? No.

Most Americans know that time spent in nature — specifically 120 minutes a week — improves mental well-being. Additionally, time in daylight (not even sunlight) decreases depressive symptoms associated with seasonal affective disorder. Still, Americans spend 90% of their time inside.

Looking back, I wonder if I became clinically depressed every winter. My blood wasn't circulating, and thus my hands were cold. My stress levels were high. I was eating unhealthy, breathing fumes from a gas stove, furnace and other chemicals from plastic-wrapped new products dropped at my doorstep. I was staring at screens and artificial light. I exercised, which was good — but on machines. Though I used "clean" green products, I forgot that getting out in fresh air would improve my health the most.

In December 2016, I moved to Switzerland with my husband, three children and four rescue pets three days before Christmas to discover it would take several days to warm our rental home due to old-fashioned steam heaters. We also learned that renters should bring their own light fixtures. Our house was dark, but for flashlights and candles. This was quite an awakening.

What did we do as we prepared for our first Swiss holiday without heat, light or gifts since our stuff was still en route? First, we decorated a tree with handmade ornaments and one string of lights. Then we escaped outdoors, under a gray sky, on paths called "wanderwege." These paths wound through forests, where humans — young and old — trotted like reindeer through hail, rain, sleet and snow. Some donned smiles and said, "Frohe Weinachten," which was hard to repeat while in shock. Other neighbors walked down the street on wet or plowed sidewalks to buy groceries, hot chestnuts and Christmas trees. Some even sat outside drinking cocktails or coffees on fur chairs.

If we rode a bus downhill, we found folks ice skating daintily along Lake Zürich, where waiters served warm Glühwein, hot chocolate and other treats from an open-air hut. Were they eating too much? It appeared not. Everything was too expensive. Was the weather good? Not usually. Yet I sensed a strange balance — like nature slowed us down, forcing us to need less and to act oddly calm.

Onward, as we rode the ferry or bus into Zürich center, we found folks laughing, drinking, eating and socializing in front of holiday market stalls. Were they shivering and hurrying to get inside? No. Were there stalls pedaling products we could overconsume? Definitely not. Purchasing food, a handmade salt shaker, leather bag, ornament, or even soap at a Swiss Christmas market wasn't cheap.

The process of carefully perusing each handmade item, and budgeting, reminded me of walking the streets of my Michigan hometown's "Gaslight Village" as a child and dreaming of gifts I couldn't afford to give. Gift purchasing in Switzerland demands patience, thought and budgeting. Sometimes we simply browsed adoringly while purchasing nothing at all.

Past the Christmas market waited a tent called a Kerzenzeihen where adults and children dipped candles and crafted their gifts. Beside it, a tram raced by with Santa Claus driving. Into Old Town, warm cheese fondue steamed, additional markets sparkled, a violinist played by the Limmat River, and families chatted on cobblestones like they'd just arrived from a Norman Rockwell painting. Tiny lights drifted over streets, slowing me down to gasp like a child.

But the joy didn't end in December. Swiss outdoor festivals boasted costumes, lights, music, food, drink and historic traditions throughout winter. Upward awaited alpine ski resorts where visitors sunbathed atop a mountain, sipping tea without even skiing. Were there a million cookies and breads? Not that I found.

There were bakeries and chocolate shops, but I was too distracted to spend time in them. Wooden toboggans raced down mountains with adults hanging on. Igloo hotels amazed. And my favorite romantic "wanderwege" (loosely translated as hiking trails), we roamed through night woods lit with lanterns. I ran, skied, hiked and wandered through the Swiss outdoors, with family and new friends, all winter.

It wasn't until my sixth year, after my dad and father-in-law died, that my Swiss winters showed me their magnitude. In my grief, my body gave way, waking me to excruciating nerve pain in my spine and leg. Willing to try anything for relief, I waded into the cold lake near my house to join the swans, ducks, sky and the water's glassy surface.

Did it hurt? Absolutely. But the cold woke me to what I'd never found in all my decorating, shopping and consuming. I was alive underneath a beautiful sky, among family and friends I loved. This was a gift I couldn't resist returning to daily like I'd eaten those cookies years before. But this time, my mind told me not to stop.

Today, I love visiting the U.S. any time of year. Yet when somebody suggests we spend the day indoors shopping and eating, I pull up a map and point to sidewalks, paths and blue-green spaces. To escape under the sky and trees is a gift most young children still sense, and I hope to never forget. Feel stressed? Find a way to get out. There is peace and joy in fresh air and natural light. Let it fill you with endless gifts.

Amy Aves Challenger Amy Aves Challenger lives writes, paints, and parents from her home in Switzerland. She recently completed her debut novel, a dystopian manuscript about an atypical boy and his family surviving in an authoritarian, automated society losing touch with nature's intelligence. Read More