Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach the far horizon? Hal Borland
Here I am, sitting at the computer trying to write something coherent, while inches away my thirteen year old is melting down at the prospect of the first day of school tomorrow. The ostensible issues: backpack size and choice of clothing for the morning. (Truth: nervous beyond belief.) Another, down the hall, is supposed to be packing for a year abroad, but has abandoned a room that could land me with a health code violation, in order to help her friend pack up for school. And, in the room vacated by my eldest daughter are the beginnings of a wedding gown that I should be working on.
I am breathing. Deeply. Slowly. Trying to plant myself in a solid place as the door slams and the tornado comes and goes from my room. I refuse to be swept away. I will not look in the disaster room tonight and wonder, yet again, how on earth it can possibly be cleaned out by next weekend. I will not respond to the repeating questions of why certain things that do not conform to dress code cannot be worn tomorrow. I will stay away from the sewing zone. I will keep my fingers on the keys. And breathe.
Outdoors, it is a stunning evening. There are actual, real life pumpkins in my otherwise barren vegetable garden. While I rued the loss of my tomatoes and chard to deer, the vines crept around, secretly fruiting under enormous leaves. Those big, beautiful pumpkins are now turning orange. An hour ago, when I went out to the coop, my chickens were arranged on their perches, cooing away contentedly after a day outdoors. The night sounds are beginning to happen. In the same zone as the tornado and the room-o-junk, lies unspeakable beauty, things that are truly wondrous. I focus on the late summer evening, warm but not hot, alive but not loud. Lush.
My life is ripe. I have gone enough distance to know that the noise and distraction of this evening is merely that. And if I can wait it out for a very short while, the chaos will give birth to opportunity.
Autumn is the season when I re-set my life. To my children, as with my earlier self, transitions are accompanied by more fear and anxiety than hope and anticipation. Without my noticing exactly when, the scales have tipped in the opposite direction. I now find times of change to be the easiest in which to do things differently–discard, clean up, and begin.
When I can breathe and remove myself from the commotion that surrounds the others, I am able to stand on the hilltop, take in the awesome view, and see which tempting paths I would like to try next. And to know that if they disappoint, I don’t need to stay on them.
I no longer have the illusion of having forever ahead of me, but I know that few of the limits I have ever put upon myself were real. I am free to try. And to fail—to be in those less ‘successful’ moments and find the pleasure in knowing I will go on, life will continue, and it will somehow, in some crooked way, all be ok.
Once the tornado goes to bed, I will have a delicious time where I sit down with the calendar and begin to plot out the next few months. I will choose the things I want to push myself to try. I will decide what I can live without. Mine to savor and enjoy the fantasy, knowing full well that nothing ever turns out exactly the way I intend—which is good.
This year, I am determined to conquer organic chemistry. It whipped me in college, and it’s time I got even. It can’t be as hard as giving birth, sitting up all night in a hospital room with a sick child, or at the bedside of a dying parent. Last year I learned to exercise. Every day. And enjoy it. So, I confess to feeling somewhat invincible.
I know that somehow, the teenager will be dressed and make it to school in the morning—even if grumbling the whole way. Her older sister will somehow manage to pull herself out of denial to clean and pack her room. The wedding gown will somehow, amazingly, be made. None will be aided by my anxiety or unhappiness. I will yield to this sensuous evening, and let the feel of it set the tone for another chance at a fresh start.