Soothing Saturday: When the Light Comes Back (And We All Pretend We’re Fine)

If you live in Norway, winter teaches you a very specific kind of patience. Not the heroic, mountain-trek patience. More the everyday kind where you put on your jacket, look out the window, and think, “Ah. Darkness again. How original.”

Soothing Saturday — is my little corner for slowing down and stepping away from my usual genealogy deep dives. Think of it as a gentle exhale at the end of the week — a space for reflections, small joys, and simple stories written just for the pleasure of it.

And yet—every year—something small happens that lifts the whole country’s mood: the days start getting longer.

Here in Molde, where we live, the shortest day of the year was right around the winter solstice, about the 21st of December. And on 21 December 2025, the day gave us exactly 4 hours, 49 minutes, and 57 seconds of daylight. Sunrise was around 10:04, and sunset was around 14:54.

That’s not a day, really. That’s a small opening in the schedule. You make a cup of coffee, glance outside, and if you blink too slowly, you miss the best part. It’s the kind of daylight that feels like it should come with a receipt: “Thank you for visiting. Please come again.”

But here’s the thing—Norwegians notice the return of the light in a way I don’t think people in sunnier places ever will. We don’t just enjoy it. We track it. We talk about it. We compare notes like it’s a national sport. Somebody will say, “It’s getting lighter,” and three other people will immediately nod like they’ve been waiting all week to hear those words.

And it really is getting lighter.

By 31 January 2026, Molde is up to 7 hours, 21 minutes, and 22 seconds of daylight. Sunrise is around 09:04, sunset around 16:25. That’s an increase of 2 hours, 31 minutes, and 25 seconds since the solstice.

Two and a half hours might not sound dramatic to someone who lives where winter still involves “afternoon sunshine” and not “a suspicious grey glow.” But here? That is a proper improvement. That’s the difference between feeling like you live inside a dimly lit hallway and feeling like you might actually step outside after lunch and still recognise the landscape.

And if you want a reminder that we have it easy in Molde—at least compared to the far north—look to Nordkapp.

Up there, the sun doesn’t just set early. It actually disappears. The last day with the sun above the horizon in winter 2025–26 was 19 November 2025, with sunrise at about 10:37 and sunset at 11:26. After that, the polar night arrived: from 20 November 2025 to 21 January 2026, the sun stood below the horizon all day. It’s still not pitch black all the time—there’s twilight—but the sun itself is simply… not taking visitors.

Then comes the moment people wait for: the day the sun returns. In Nordkapp this winter, it came back on 22 January 2026, rising around 11:13 and setting around 11:44. About half an hour of daylight.

Half an hour. Imagine the excitement. Imagine standing there like, “Yes! It’s back! Quick, everyone, go outside and behave like lizards on a warm stone!”

And honestly, that’s exactly what we do in our own way, even further south. The weather might still be cold enough to make your eyelashes question their career choices, but the light changes everything anyway. You suddenly feel slightly more human. You start thinking thoughts like “Maybe I’ll take a walk” or “I should wash the windows” which is a sure sign of seasonal optimism returning to the brain.

This is also the time of year when we start doing funny little things without really noticing. We linger outside for no reason. We look at the sky like it’s putting on a performance just for us. We say, “It’s still light!” in a tone usually reserved for spotting a rare bird or finding money in an old coat pocket.

So yes, the calendar says it’s winter. The roads may say otherwise. But the light is creeping back day by day, minute by minute, like it’s quietly reclaiming the place.

And in Norway, that matters more than we can properly explain—except we do try, repeatedly, to anyone within hearing distance.

“It’s getting lighter,” we say.

And the best part is: it really is, and that is soothing me today.