Falling

My relationship with fall is so complicated. I think I’m finally starting to make my peace with it. I grew up in New England, where fall is a sight to behold. The trees turn so many lovely shades of red and orange and yellow that October after October as a kid, I wished I were a skilled enough painter or poet to capture that moment so I could keep it forever.

And because it’s the loveliest season, with deliciously warm-but-not hot and cool-but-not cold days, it has always been my favorite time of year. As much as I love endless summer days poolside, it’s just too indulgent to wish for summer all year round. Like your birthday, it wouldn’t be special anymore if you woke up and celebrated every day. Summer, the indulgent season, is a delight, but it has always felt more like a wild boyfriend from high school than the man I want to settle down with for life. That man is fall.

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Except, though, that fall also ushers in winter, the season so cold and bleak it feels almost as I imagine a prison cell must feel to a person sentenced to solitude. Of all life’s discomforts, cold is truly the most intolerable. I can arch my back in labor pain, suffer the loss of my dearest grandparent, with greater ease than I can endure the cold. If you were to ask me which fate would be more terrible: to burn alive or freeze, I would say the latter quite easily.

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But enough is enough! I am tired of spending the better part of fall worrying for what’s ahead. Winter comes and winter goes. I realized recently that I own many coats, so many coats, plenty of coats, and yet I keep adding more coats to my collection. Perhaps subconsciously, I’ve realized that instead of wishing the inevitable away, it’s better just to dress for it, and face it without fear.

Welcome, fall, I adore you. And winter will need to wait patiently.

Happy Sunday, and thanks for reading!