Aside from the showers of leaves as I walk down the driveway next to the burned-out ruins of Rebel’s Rest and the bright colors of fall, I am distinctly aware that the seasons are changing.
The feeling of being in between is weighing heavily on my mind in the “drop,” the emotional aftereffects of last week’s meetings. I am proud of how it all came about. The events went well, and I had a chance to shine instead of being obscured in the shadows of giants.
I am quietly sad. And mindful that the days are passing still. Wondering whether the opportunity costs of chasing short-term gratification at the expense of long-term edification are worth the time spent–or thrown away. Where is the equilibrium point in living for now versus working toward later?
My mind is quiet for once, partly due to having blown itself out with all of last week’s details, and partly due to being tired.
And I am somehow balanced, neither wishing for what’s past nor leaning into the future, simply here in the moment, somehow detached and looking down from floating above it all. There is no strong emotion, not at the to-do lists that have drug on and cost me a measure of playfulness or even at the possibilities unfolding over the next couple of months.
I look back at the timeline I drafted two months ago, and it seems impossible that so many of those things have happened and like the ubiquitous mark on the map, “You are Here.” When I wrote it, it seemed like this week would never come, and I am here.
As I moved forward through the meetings this time, I connected and enjoyed–and realized with great peace that this one might very well be my last. I’ve arrived, yet I may be leaving. I am not what I once was, not yet what I sooner or later will become.
The old considerations, matters, worries are falling away like the heat of the summer, giving way to a calmer, more peaceful breeze and the scratching sounds of leaves on the pavement as the chill air carries them along.
A new season is coming.