My friend and fellow coach Jenn wrote this beautiful post about Fall, about endings, how they wake us up, quoting the poet James A. Pearson: “What’s ending shakes me back into my body.” Richard Wilbur, in another favorite poem about fall, Alatus, describes the falling leaves as a “rash consent to change.”
Fall is my favorite season. Over the last several years, between September and Christmas, I wake up an hour earlier than I do in other seasons of the year. I have more creativity, more ideas for collaborations and work projects. I cook and paint more and add to my bucket list spreadsheet. In January, when the traditional New Year’s resolutions time comes, I slow down and cool off. I miss the energy of Autumn, but I also understand that it’s unsustainable. Creativity and inspiration come in cycles, and the lows are as important as the highs.
The big change in my life this season is that I will not have any dependents in my household for the next 9 months. Though I’ve technically been an “empty nester” for a year, my son lived at home last fall right after we dropped my daughter off at college. As my husband will tell you, it’s hard for me to have a kid in the house, however old they are, without taking care of them or being overly tuned in to their moods and travails.
So it’s really time for me to put myself in the frame. For many of us, the trajectory is 1) We’re somebody’s child 2) We’re somebody’s partner 3) We’re somebody’s parent. I’m in the 4th stage—belonging to myself! I have many blessed obligations to work, friendships, and my partner, but much more white space to play with. My friend Aimee was talking recently about how much pressure there is on midlife women to reinvent themselves and how exhausting it is. I agree. I don’t want to reinvent myself—I want to come home to myself.
Turns out there is a multibillion-dollar wellness industry that’s yelling at me about how to do that. Influencers making the interview circuit, pontificating about dopamine levels, peptides, and hallucinogens. The more disconnected we become from ourselves, the quicker the charlatans appear. As summer turns to fall, the best gift you can give yourself is space. 60 minutes in the morning without a screen. An afternoon to clear out your garden bed. Lying in bed for 10 extra minutes in the morning and taking some deep breaths. Writing down your answer to the question, “What do I want?” Letting yourself tap into sorrow or letting yourself express your joy. Reading books, meditating for a few moments. Fiercely protecting your time and energy for the things that matter.
As I write this, I see how (annoyingly?) often I return to these themes. As demands on our time and energy get more intrusive, I see those in my circle trusting themselves less. As we are marketed to relentlessly, we become more driven to acquire and consume. We kneel at the altar of Optimization, spending our precious inner fire trying to make our lives more comfortable instead of waking up.
This Fall, as the leaves consent to change, what can we consent to? What is it that’s trying to shake out in our bodies, relationships, our vocational callings? If you’ve got a partner who doesn’t see you. If you’ve got a job with a fat paycheck that exacts a price from your soul. If you live more on a screen than in your life. We have this one very short life. As James Pearson says at the end of his poem “Where did the Middle Go?” , “Autumn calls to you with its waving yellows and falling reds: ‘Witness me!’ It seems to shout. ‘I’m here only for a moment.’”