It is fall.
The temperatures begin to drop, and the colors begin to change. In the midst of transition from what was to what will be, I am once again left in awe with nature’s ability to show us so clearly what’s necessary.
To let go.
She makes it look so graceful. Staying in the unknown while she drops everything. Shedding every little piece off until there is nothing left—for when there is nothing, there is nothing but possibility.
I attempt to follow suit.
But in my attempts to let go, I grip to what could be. My mind makes plans: maybe I’ll run away and travel the world, or maybe it’s time to settle down. I know this game too well. I am attempting to create comfort in the discomfort, and in turn, am only amplifying the discomfort.
Discomfort from feeling stuck.
Or being in transition. In the free fall.
Or sitting in the middle. In the in-between.
Rather than sit in it—the present discomfort—I attempt to create comfort by keeping one foot in the past and one in the future.
Holding on too tightly.
So in the midst of these chaotic thoughts I decide to clear my mind with a walk outside. Immediately, I feel the cool air on my skin and the beautiful colors of the trees.
I am in awe of the beauty.
This short and fleeting season of fall is used for the trees to become completely bare. There will be nothing left of what was. Only trust in what’s unknown.
How do the trees live and breathe with such faith? It’s their only way.
A leaf drops by my feet, and I look up to see where her journey began. She is all colors, and I realize my moment with her is fleeting, that everything is fleeting, and I need to drop what was in order to be in the now. Just like this leaf and that tree and this moment and this season and all seasons.
It comes and goes.
How freeing it must be to trust so deeply in the ebb and flow of life
To let go moment to moment
Be in the space between.
To live this messy and beautiful and perfect life.
I will forget by tomorrow.
Author: Sammy Hart
Editor: Callie Rushton
Copy Editor: Danielle Beutell
Social Editor: Travis May