January has a way of softening the world. The skies turn pewter. Trees bare their bones. The holiday lights blink off one by one, and the city, for a few weeks at least, wraps itself in quiet. It’s easy to think of this season as colorless—just a long corridor of greys leading to a spring of promise.

But I’ve learned to see it differently. Winter has its own palette, and if you’re willing to look, there’s so much more than meets the eye. It’s not the showy color of autumn or the exuberance of summer. It’s subtle. Earned. Often hidden in plain sight.

It’s the dusky pink light of a cold sunrise, catching the edges of high-rise windows. It’s the deep green of the fir wreath still hanging on a neighbor’s door. The pop of a red scarf on a passerby. The golden gleam of lamps flickering to life at 4:30 in the afternoon. It’s the cobalt shock of Lake Michigan on a clear, crisp day.

Color at Home, Even When the Outside is Grey
At home, I seek out small ways to bring color into the fold. A bowl of clementines on the counter. Pink tulips, just starting to open. A stack of art books left intentionally visible, with their spines like a spectrum. I keep a few candles by the window—because candlelight is a color, too. So is the warm wood of a side table or the dark velvet of a throw blanket.

I don’t believe in “waiting for spring” to create beauty. We deserve beauty now.

The Color of Rituals and Rhythm
Color isn’t only about what we see—it’s also about how we feel. A favorite playlist on a grey morning. A handwritten letter on creamy paper. The clink of a coffee spoon in a favorite mug. These small moments have color. Texture. Mood. Hope.

Even a walk through Streeterville or River North or the Gold Coast takes on new meaning in winter. The architecture is somehow more pronounced without leaves and flowers. The shadows fall differently. The rhythm of footsteps on cold pavement is its own kind of music.

I try to dress the part, too. Navy. Camel. Charcoal. A pop of something totally unexpected—a pocket square, a sock, a silk lining—just to remind myself that color can live anywhere.

A Gentle Practice
Finding color in January is like practicing a form of noticing. It’s quiet work. But I think it’s the kind of work that matters. Because Happily Ever Always™ is really about attention. It’s about choosing to see, even when everything around you say there’s nothing to see. It’s about pausing long enough to say, This is beautiful, even if no one else notices it but you.

So, tell me—what colors are finding you this winter?