Fall, again

Every year in the beginning of fall, I always write about what it is meaning to me at the time. This year can be no different. In fact, maybe it's even more so.

People love seasons for different reasons. Some of summer for the warmth of the cement at twilight and the long sunny days. Spring has its joys with a sense of newness, the beginning and maybe just a little love. The sleepiness of winter lures some in, calming their hectic lives and forcing a slower pace as the weather becomes a natural hindrance to a frenetic speed of life.

But to me, fall is the most amazing off all seasons. Deep passionate colors, but quiet in the way it enters. Nothing seems more satisfying than wrapping yourself in a blanket in some sort of oversized chair, listening to rain and watching the mist gathered. I used to say it was the reflection I loved, but the older I've gotten, the more I have learned, it truly is the death that I take joy in.

As fall has come, I have found myself shedding so much, like a second skin, or unwanted layers. My heart has continued to settle in to the truths that loom larger than life, accepting them, and in that acceptance, feeling a sense of release.

I had a date last night. I know, right? It's been a while. I have substituted baking for a social life and subsequently created an addiction in the office, and my sweet tooth. But instead of answering the beckoning call to a new recipe of coffeecake cupcakes with an espresso whipped cream, I accepted an invitation to Monday night football and sushi. Got to get out there sometime, right?

Interestingly enough, I had an hour to kill before we met up, so I spent some time reading and running errands. The closer I got to the date, the more anxious I got. All I wanted to do was go home and bake. I didn't want to go on this date and find that he was another guy that wouldn't be able to have a decent conversation, or I was going to be fighting off for sex. I didn't want to have to worry about whether or not I had mace in my purse, or a good excuse to get out of their when things turned south. I didn't want to fight the disappointment, I didn't want to feel the comparisons I knew I would be making. And that's what it was, wasn't it? In my head, I was making comparisons to an experience I had years ago when I fell in love with my ex. He had surprised me with charm, wit and confidence. He treated me like a princess and it spoiled me and now it seemed nothing would compare and so better to not even try.

The lump kept forming in my throat as I thought it about it over and over. I had already made an ass of myself by drunk emailing him a few nights before (I know, I know, but it was a weak moment and the great part is, the next morning I was so glad to realize he would always be too weak to ever respond). It was ironic in how I felt stupid the next morning, but mostly because, I am beginning to not really feel so in love with him anymore. I think I had a nostalgic moment over feeling so in love and all the baking in the world doesn't substitute for a great make-out session. I woke up and slapped my forehead thinking "Oh Lord, I'm stupid. Oh well! Shit happens." But still, the memories of how I had been swept off my feet before left me feeling frightened and anxious about what was ahead.

I realized, it would never be that way again. I would never be that naive, I would never be able to be so swept away. I could never settle so easily again. The circumstances of life had left me in such a place that I knew, what happened then, would never happen again and no one would ever compare. I couldn't ever go back. And I cried. For a moment I cried.

Then, the deeper truth sank in. Just because it would never be like that again, didn't mean I was going to have to settle. So what if this was a bad date? Did that mean every date after was going to be bad? If he thought he was going to get in my pants just for a dinner, did that mean I had to let him have that fear? Who said I was a victim and I couldn't handle myself? And why was I assuming it was going to be that way?

So I fell in love once, it was great and we were great and now, it's over. For the first time in my life, as I am shedding, dying, finding, growing, grieving, learning, giving, feeling, hoping and allowing myself to find who I really am, I feel more comfortable and uncomfortable in my skin than I ever have. And no one can take that. I am going to screw up, I am full of baggage and hurts and lessons and fears and wisdom and energy and passion and immaturity and so many other amazing and ridiculous things. The key for me, is rather than fight the truths, let them settle in. Let them do their work.

If the trees didn't know their place in the cycle of life, they would fight the death that every fall brought, and I would never see the beautiful colors of orange, red, gold and brown. If it were a perpetual spring, nothing would ever have a chance to come back to life bigger, grander, more full of wonder and majesty. I fear the pain of the truths and do everything I can to run past them, to disregard them, or pretend they aren't true. Everything will be okay seems to be the motto I want to bury my head in, but the real peace, the real freedom, the real compassion, love and tenderness comes when I stop fighting and let the pain have its way until there is nothing left.

I think this is why I have inherently loved fall. Because somewhere deep inside, there is a resonation with death. My soul and spirit fall in line as I let go of what I think has to be, my normal definitions and my usual ways, and instead I surrender and let the hurt mark and scar. Then, somehow in the amazing hope that is the man of Jesus, something comes back to life. A deeper sort of more important hope comes and rings true. I am changing, the seasons are coming and going, and letting go may hurt so bad, but there is a freedom in not retaining what is already dead. I am not the same woman I was four years ago, two years ago, two months ago. Every morning I get up and say goodbye to her, knowing I carry with me the best parts, the deep, vulnerable, strong scar tissue that defines me as growing, developing and learning.

It's been such a long winter, with such a short summer. But as this fall greets me with its warm kiss and chilly nights, I welcome the death like never before. I've seen the value of pain, the beauty from loving and losing, the wounding of hopelessness, the betrayal of faith and everything you thought you knew, and I have rued the day I was born. Well, I may not reveling in perfect joy, but I am considering the compassion and connection to others pain a much deeper sort of gift. It carries with it the responsibility of love that grows beyond words, and I am not sure where the road will take me, but I know every year will find me back in fall, wrapping me back in a season of death to again meet another of life. There is peace in the knowledge that all is as it should be. It should be hard, because then it will be great again, and then it will be hard again and then I will know more and love more and I will never be the same. And for someone that usually reads the last page of a book first, this is a sort of milestone close to the removing of the stone over the tomb.

And for those of you that are curious, surprisingly, the date was great. He was charming, smart, respectful and very, very cute. He opened doors, paid for dinner, and didn't so much ask for a kiss at the end of the night. Instead he asked me to a Stanford game and said I smelled like paradise. Um, swoon. But in truth, there is a small part of me that is appreciative of the space, the respect and how maybe, when I'm ready to fall in love again, it will be a little less fast, but a little more deep. Now it may not be love at first date, but it has some promise, and for once, that is almost better. I may hate the suspense, but if I can have the miracle of knowing death will have its way and it will be a good thing, than maybe, this time I won't try to run to the finish line too early, or force it to be something its not. And maybe, I will find out along the way, it isn't what I want, or maybe it will be, or maybe it won't for him, or whatever. The point is, slowing down, letting death and hope rise in unison, peace falls as the smell of pumpkin lattes and the sounds of football increase. So now, I am going to grab my blanket, find a chair and watch the mist surround with a small smile knowing, one day, things will make more sense. Or, maybe they won't.