For as long as I’ve lived north of the equator, November has been a time of relative unease. I wonder if one day, finding myself in Australia or Brazil, experiencing opposite seasons, if November will suddenly mean something different. Till then, this time of year ends up feeling like a heavy handed wake up call. Fall, oftentimes abruptly places us back in the throes of colder weather and serves as a reminder of mother nature’s fast approaching cruelty. I look back on November’s past, and remember growing pains, times of reflection, and a smidgen of disbelief.
All the galavanting and whimsy of summer evaporates into the ether. Now, your body requires the protection of layers to go out into the world, and you can no longer remember what it felt like to dread heat and a beating sun. With colder weather, the urge to snuggle up and leave ourselves behind is all consuming. It’s for that reason that I feel this time of year is most perplexing. I am at-once, not ready to let go of whoever I was a few months ago, and certainly not sure of sharing the unfinished bits of myself either.
Perhaps, this is all brought on by the leaves. Each year they seem more vibrant, and each fall I find greater appreciation for the beauty they collectively bring. In seeing the joy they encapsulate, I also see the loss that seems to rest around the corner. One by one, they flutter from their treetop perches, crunching underfoot, and done away with by nature.
In these seasons of life, though we do not grow leaves, I see how we similarly grow pieces of ourselves. We see colors change, intentions evolve, and life stripping us of what we once claimed as ours. So fittingly, this sentiment resonates most deeply at this time of year, when it seems the change around us is more salient than ever.
I am reminded time and time again, that loss is life in motion. As devastating as it is at times, it is loss that grounds us in the bodies we so often forget to appreciate. Some of my greatest moments of connection to myself are tied to things, people, and experiences I have in some way or another had to let go of.
Thus, I am continually left in awe of the wonder around me. Will you all go outside to see how the trees paint themselves in new colors for only a tiny window of time? This abscission, the falling of dead leaves, has begun to mean so much to me. As I watch these leaves and their colors slowly depart, I see how, yet again, I feel a piece of me leaving as well; saying goodbye. We’re preparing for winter, a time when the fragile, beautiful complexities of life’s greatest colors stand little to no chance of survival. We hunker down, grit our teeth, and dig deep. We do it for so long and so well that come spring we have almost forgotten what it was like to feel warm, and ultimately what it was like to know loss.
This year I want to revel in these final moments of color. As I start to part ways with my own leaves, my chest, though it tightens, also fills with pride for the feats I’ve tackled, the lessons I’ve learned, and the parts of me that no longer serve a purpose. Winter is coming, and the journey by no means gets easier from here, but I can’t help but stand gobsmacked, thinking of the future iterations of myself that coming seasons will bring.
When I said that leaves fall and are done away with by nature, I misspoke. In reality, they find themselves repurposed, nurturing the soil and playing a larger part then one can initially imagine. So really, when we watch the leaves fall, we’re witnessing loss and creation all at once.
Yes, life in motion.