I woke up this morning to thick, gray fog. I could tell by looking out the window that it was cold, damp, and just generally yucky. I thought to myself, “Here we go…Fall has officially arrived…Get ready to be and stay cold and wet for months on end.” But by the time I headed out the door a couple hours later, the sun was out, the sky was blue, the air was crisp, and the most beautiful of all things this time of year surrounded me: colorful leaves. A couple of hours and a change in perspective makes a world of difference.
I love Fall, really. It’s one of my favorite seasons. I want to drink Mocha’s instead of Americano’s. I want to stay inside and read a book. I want the drapes drawn and the lights on low. I get to drag out coats, blazers, sweaters, shoes, and boots that haven’t been worn for months. I get to make soup and bread. And I get to start seeing Christmas decorations in the stores (I know: it’s far too early, but I don’t care. I LOVE IT). These things change my attitude and actually entice me into the months of cold, gray, and wet that are about to descend in the Pacific Northwest. I can fall into this season with abandon and even expectation or I can resist; either way, it’s coming. My perspective will make a world of difference.
I’m thinking today about Fall and fall(ing), about the movement between anticipating something and actually letting myself be in the midst of it. Here’s what I mean: when I see the fog outside I can anticipate being cold, feeling dark, complaining. I don’t want Fall. But when I enter into it – whether literally or figuratively – I adjust, I cope, and I get to choose how I’m going to navigate within it. And sometimes, the fog just burns away and I’m left with incredible beauty. My perspective matters.
Likewise, in life. I can see a set of circumstances in front of me, often looking a lot like fog, and I can begin, in my oft’ obsessive way, to anticipate all the darkness that they will bring – the feelings of loneliness, frustration, fear, and/or pain. I can anticipate feeling cold and dark – and complaining. But when I enter into them – sometimes stumbling or falling into them – I adjust, I cope, and I can choose how I’m going to be within them. And sometimes, the fog just burns away and I’m left with incredible beauty. Sometimes it doesn’t. But my perspective matters.
I may be rambling – at least as I type – but things feel less foggy in my brain and heart. I want to hold a perspective that entices me to free-fall into Fall, into the fog, into the unknown, even into the cold, dark, and lonely parts of my life. I don’t want to hang back, dreading what’s ahead. I can do nothing to stop what’s coming anyway – whether colder weather or difficult emotions and realities. I want to be the kind of woman that just lets go, that lives with abandon, that doesn’t worry, that is willing to risk, that falls. Maybe the fog will burn away leaving with with surprising blue skies. Maybe it won’t. But my perspective matters.
I’ve never sky-dived and I don’t know that I ever want to, but I can imagine the feeling of it – the fear of the chute not opening, the leap into nothingness, the rush of adrenalin, and the shock of freedom and beauty that comes in the expanse, the silence, the falling. It’s Fall and I want to be falling – willingly – not pushed out of the hatch. I want the rush. I want the freedom and beauty. I want the perspective that invites me to expansiveness – not (en)closure, to color – not gray, to risk – not safety, to change – not resistance, to life. I’m not asking much, am I?
