Ever since I moved from Connecticut to California eighteen years ago (guess who is getting old) fall has been the most intensely emotional time of year for me. To begin, there's the obvious symbolism inherent in the season itself: we move from life to death. Transitions are hard. Just ask anyone under the age of ten.
I moved on my own for college at a time that was tumultuous. I had unfinished business with my high school boyfriend and tough times at home, too. California was exactly the breath of fresh, eucalyptus scented air I needed in my life, but as George Bernard Shaw said, "There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart's desire. The other is to gain it." I missed home.
Fall in New England is one of life's simplest and most beautiful pleasures, and it is a gift I grew up taking for granted. California's breathtaking Pacific cliffs have won my heart and I am here to stay. But every September my heart aches for something else.