the fall
on longing for change in the season you were destined to be in
“Oh look, the leaves are turning.” Autumn is fast approaching, if not already upon us, and my oh my, did that hit like a rushing wave of salty sea water. I don’t know about you, but as much as I’ll soak up the sun for approximately three to four months of the year, I am not a Summer girl by any means - I thrive in this season we’re in now.
I relish in the crunch of golden, auburn and unripe leaves on walks from home to the station, I settle peacefully into the cosy tranquil of my bed as the rain mist clouds my window view, and then eventually, pitter patters against it, the upped frequency of herbal teas consumed on a daily (if not, hourly) basis - this is the season I truly feel at home in. It could be that I have a peak Autumn birthday (October 31st, don’t forget it xxx), or that people seem to slow down slightly, and the demands, pressures and expectations of Summer are forgone, but I feel aligned.
Nonetheless, it had me thinking about change; how we have grown to detest when things start to decay, when a ship has sailed, resentment when a moment has passed. Perhaps this is the time, a toe dip in the water before that icy winter air smacks sensitive skin, where we fully grapple with what the year has had to offer us; failed relationships, lost friendships, dead habits and familiar territories now unfamiliar. Yet, still here, we choose to dwell in and over-reckon with the ‘carnage’ that changing seasons can bring - only, they’re not ruins at all.
It’s a tide-turning moment (or maybe sensation) that made me realise I think I loved whoever I was before I knew who I really was, but I really love myself more now. I love this young woman who wasn’t afraid to let her skin darken in the sun, who dared to let herself almost fall in love again, who risked homesickness to experience new terrain, who began speaking up and standing up for herself (finally) even at the cost of adversity, who let go of who and what was holding her back to become all that she needed to be, who let faith be her steering wheel - who finally, and willingly, said yes to change.
This year has brought so much of it.
And where I’d often resent it, punishing myself for not being exactly what I needed to be - or fulfilling the quotas and standards that others had set for me - I rest in the bliss of walking (or dancing) to the beat of my own drum; a nice, bluesy (but not always melancholic) hum, a buzzy, excited treble, steady and slow like a stirring glass of red wine, mostly clear but slightly misty like a VS1 clarity ring.
I read this (insanely) beautiful excerpt from Amanda Brown’s recent post on being a ‘Hopeless (Romantic)’, and I had to share:
“Even when disaster strikes, I tell myself I’m healed, as though the wound has fully closed. But really, it only scabs over—smooth to the unsuspecting eye, yet still raw beneath. Not gone, just hidden better. Protected better.
Sometimes, I don’t even feel the sting of disappointment, though I know it lingers, waiting for me to notice. Things end, friends ask how I’m doing, and I say I’m fine, meaning it. I have mastered the art of fine—fine no matter who lies to my face or vanishes without warning. I’m always half-expecting it, even from the ones I quietly hope won’t. But hope cannot alchemize someone into being who you need them to be.”
But it’s that ‘sting of disappointment’ line that really rings true. As the seasons have changed, as we’ve gone from mittens to mini dresses and beanies to bikinis, there has been a constant undercurrent of disappointment. I’d like to say it hasn't been love, but that’s untrue. If ‘love makes the world go round’, we’ve been at a vicious halt for a while now. I look at the state of the world around us, an upbringing where 'multiculturalism’ rang through the streets and neighbours hugged, and everything felt, well, more full of love. So, naturally, I feel like a ‘hopeless romantic’ in all senses of the word because the romance that used to show up more frequently in our everyday, feels…hopeless.
In the hustle and bustle, I fear that we’ve become so obsessed with change - drastic, sudden and superficial change - that we forget when we’re living in the greener pastures. Or at least that some of us get to. All over my TikTok fyp, there are people, young, old and anywhere in between, celebrating September like it’s a new year; relishing at the abundance of opportunity they feel - they know - lies ahead in their new future, waiting with excited anticipation. The influx of new jobs, new opportunities, new bonds and new ideas - there is a spring of hopefulness in the air, yet it’s being experienced in the fall.
‘Let me never forget on my worst day that I’m just as blessed on my best day…’
Going and growing through the motions of this blessing we call life reinforces that there truly is beauty in the madness, that you still can’t spell hopeless (or hopeful) without ‘hope’, and that love is ever-present. If that be the case, if that be fact and truth, I don’t wish to forgo this season. I don’t wish to dwell in the pain and nostalgia of this year, let alone life, nor gloat in the tumultuous turnover of chapters as we arrive at the ninth (three more to go!).
In this final home stretch, I’m letting love be the driving force and learning be the destination. When that’s the case, there’s truly no fall.
How blessed am I?
My gospel as always – also LOVE the new logo.....!
Loved reading this!!