Fall in Maine is rife with change. It’s all around us, everywhere you turn. It’s whispering to me through the trees on my afternoon runs- I can feel the leaves crunching, changing yellow orange red with every stride.
It nips at the river during our morning breakfast ritual. It sweeps great heaps of mist off the surface, sending us shivers and the ducks southbound.
Again- change begets change. We feel it stir something deep in us, too. We’re hunkering down and thinking through future plans, instead of going out and exploring. We’re heading to bed earlier and getting up later. We’re reaching for sweet potatoes and rutabagas instead of fresh summer greens.
Trevor has always been better with change than me- he opens himself wide to the universe, accepting each of its twists and turns, always trusting it will lead him to where he’s meant to be. He’s been on some truly amazing adventures as a result.
I am not so graceful. I reject the idea of change with every fiber of my being, trying to plan out my future to the last minute detail so I’m not disappointed (or worse: too different from everybody else) when I get there. Our dear friend and mentor taught us a name for this: anomie.
I’m getting a bit better at not doing this, though. I’m getting better at seeing the beauty, instead of the fear.
The changing of the seasons is one of the best reminders that it’s time for us to change, too. Our culture doesn’t always make this easy, but we’re meant to change, especially with the seasons. Change our diets and our lifestyle. Eat heavier foods if that’s what you’re craving. Sleep more. Slow down and reflect. If you aren’t happy with what you find, change your dreams, too.
“…time can be slowed if you live deliberately. If you stop and watch sunsets. If you spend time sitting on porches listening to the woods. If you give in to the reality of the seasons.”
― Thomas Christopher Greene, I’ll Never Be Long Gone: A Novel