For many years, when asked, I’ve said my favorite season is summer. “Bring on the heat!” I say. I think my favorite part about the summer is those sultry nights. I always envision the heat, the humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife, a tall gin and tonic, sweat beading on the sides of the glass. I love that scene!
This year was different.
Summer was not my favorite. Summer was a long, slow boil that eventually bubbled over. I just couldn’t take it–it being so many things–any longer. I’ve already detailed the changes I’ve made and indicated a desire for more changes.
Perhaps because this is my first year not being a student, but I have been eyeing fall as a new start.
I feel as though all summer I got burnt up, like leaves on a tree, and now I am ready to shed all of these old, dead appendages. I am ready to stand with nothing, to turn inward and hibernate during the cold months, then bloom beautifully in the spring.
This concept of turning inward has been more and more on my mind. I’ve found myself ignoring my voice, of wanting to not be too much in my own head. Some of it (much of it?) I think stems from being home all day, not getting much human interaction.
As a reader, I have been gravitating towards books of inner journeys, both fiction and non-fiction. Seeing how others–albeit fictional characters–deal with different seasons of life, how people have shed that which no longer serves and found what does, or merely how people have survived less than desirable circumstances.
My hope for myself this fall is to spend more time cultivating that voice and less time listening to the outside world. This could take many forms–I am excited to see which one(s) it takes.