Finally, some practical advice from therapy. "It's always such a weird time of year," I said. "I'm excited for fall but feel like I missed out on so much summer." It's been a long time since I've been in school, where September was a nice straight line between two stages of life. Now everything is much more amorphous. I'd gotten lost in it, the miasma of it all. Looking forward, missing out. Never here or now. "September has a lot to teach us," I think she'd said. Then to sit outside and think of how it feels in this liminal time "between"—what is the earth doing? How does it impact me? She knows me well, because if there's one think I’m constantly thinking about, it's that.
It feels like I'm always "between." Not a child, not an adult. Not a woman, not a man. Liminal living. Am I standing at the threshold of something? A boundary between lands? Or is that even too binary? I’m in the eye of a storm, calm. Safe in the miasma. Mist.
I think best with my feet in the grass. Back against a tree if there's one available. And there I saw it: two seasons on a scale. The last flickers of August's sun meeting the coolness of an autumn breeze. In September we learn how to balance.
As they say, ends are beginnings.
Do the leaves know? Do they eat sunlight knowing each taste could be their last, that they'll soon be feeding soil instead of trees? Considering how much they love drama, I think yes—even in their dying they put on a show. Passion; inevitability: in September we savour everything.
("That's something I need to work on," I’ll think later, eating my food too fast to really enjoy. Slow down. Always slow down.)
A bee landed on my chest. I shook my shirt to get it off, but it slipped inside instead. I stood up, spinning, freeing it only for it to get lost in my hair. An instinctual swat and it clamoured out, buzzing around my head. I hurried for the forest, wondering how I didn't get stung. Maybe all the bee wanted was a hug.
The forest is still. Not yet holding its breath, but slowing. Making its rounds, an extended farewell. Thanking everyone for visiting and promising to come back next year. It glows in its acceptance. Lessons it took three months to learn: We cannot always be in bloom; we cannot always rest. But we always, always change. In September we prepare to transform.
And here, now, a new stage of transformation. Pre-transformation. You are either transforming or preparing to. The only constant in life, in nature. Every season, every day, every breath is new. Balance, savour. It doesn't have to sting.
I did the math and each minute of therapy costs me $3.50. How much was each minute by that tree worth?