I didn’t know it was raining. I woke up at 5 a.m., made an Americano, returned a few emails, and got dressed to go out for my big morning walk. It’s pitch black at this time, so I attend for a few things to avoid making the entire trek in the dark. We have a new pack of wolves in the forest and… well, I’ve seen The Gray, and it scared the snot out of me. So, I carry a weapon and make sure the sky begins to lighten up before I’m halfway done with my workout.
Once more into the fray
Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.
Live and die on this day,
Live and die on this day.
I stepped out the door and was shocked to walk into the rain. I didn’t know it was raining.
I didn’t know because my (precious) family has begun to whine about the house being cold, and so they’ve begun to go around and close up windows, and so, when I woke up this morning, I could not hear the water splashing in the ponds or raindrops dripping onto the harvest table in the courtyard, both sounds a clue that some form of indoor cardio will be required.
I can’t tell you how disconnected this quick moment made me feel, and the season change for me happened right then. The times, they are a-changing.
Oddly, this parallels other areas of my life. I’ve been feeling that pretty strongly.
And everything in between.
We’re schooling again, and this year it looks so different as the students at my table become fewer due to jobs, classes outside the house, and more. I ache with missing them. My work is shifting as I steer increasingly towards wanting to make Paris the main thing, help people with their design projects, and bring them treasures with my new store. ——– I feel passions in my life becoming STRONGER (my children, my marriage, grown-up things like finances, my deep need to make things beautiful), and things I need to part ways with are SO much easier to do.
Time makes you bolder, children get older, I’m getting older too.
So it’s not just that I’m on the cusp of autumn.
It’s loss, and hope, and everything in between that beats down on my heart this morning, like the heavy raindrops off the eaves of the house in the morning darkness.
It’s that one can’t stay the same.
“I hope you never change.”
“Stay who you are.”
… these are poisonous demands from family and strangers. Don’t listen to them. I’ve always had my interests, quirks, and desires. I’m an old soul. That’s always been and always will be. That is a river that runs deep. But that river ebbs and flows. Braches of it rage with furry, and branches trickle. Erosion comes, and the shoreline morphs its shape. It freezes and thaws only to come back full of life and vitality. Seasons cause the river to change. Seasons of life demand and inspire change in us. Change hurts. We get stripped of those we love. And change is good. How terribly boring to never grow, to never try new things or see what you are made of. How dreadful to love with the same level of passion, learn at the same pace, and walk through life to the same rhythm FOREVER.
“Not I,” said the cat.
A tweak, an improvement, an organization, a shaving, a trimming, a surge… these are all the things that happen as we grow. Live without them, painful or pleasurable, and fear for lack of living.
So here’s to a new season. The mind reels with contemplation. I have to believe it’s a good thing.
Now, I want to contemplate while on my morning walk, wolves and rain be damned.
PS: I miss you, Grampa.