I grew up with two seasons: rainy and dry (less rainy). My parents moved to the land of four seasons about eight years ago. I started visiting them for holidays. The snow during Christmas was pleasant and magical until about four weeks in and then I was ready to migrate again. But a couple of years ago I moved here myself and I am quite surprised at how much it has changed me.

The first two winters were like emotional marathons. January and February were the worst. I would wake up and get these urges to run outside in shorts and bare feet until I looked out the window and remembered it was twenty degrees out. My heart would shrivel up into a sad little almond and every day it seemed like winter would last forever. When spring came I always felt a new surge of hope in my soul.

But after the first couple rounds of seasonal changes I noticed something bizarre…I was starting to anticipate them. I started looking forward to fall even winter (gasp!). Now I consider myself a fully adjusted seasonal woman. I even have seasonal wardrobes. Granted, I still struggle sometimes on the coldest days of winter. But I have learned there is something beautiful in each season and in the constant change.

Seasons are like a free scene change. You don’t have to go on vacation, or get your hair cut, or switch jobs. You may be thinking, “Why would I do any of those things? I am a well-adjusted American adult with community roots!” Well, dear reader, I am not. I have self-diagnosed permaphobia: the fear of permanence. I moved every couple of years when I was a kid and traveled even more frequently. I get secretly distressed and depressed when my life stays the same too long. I have found it healthy to initiate change in my life every few months. I have done the hair cut (always regretted it), I have quite jobs prematurely, and I have moved across country for almost no reason.

I am trying to teach myself to make healthy changes and be wary for the impulsive ones. The seasons help. Just when I think my life has hit another rut, just when I think things will never change, or all of my dreams are dead, a new season starts to creep in. I feel renewed hope that a new chapter is coming. This may sound strange, but it even helps that I have to start wearing different clothes and drinking different beverages. (That’s a lie. I drink hot Americanos all year)

Fall is coming. A couple of weeks ago I went camping in the mountains and was a bit flabbergasted to see the aspens turning yellow. It was still August, after all. As I drove down the mountain the change in foliage was undeniable. The undergrowth was full of yellows and reds. Even here in the valley trees have been slowing turning yellow.

Granted, I know we’ll still have our weeks of warm weather. But no one can deny that fall is coming. And I am encouraged by it. There may be newness just around the corner. Who knows what fall will bring? Who knows what next year will bring?

To all you northern latitude dwellers, happy Fall! Make the most of it. And to those who live in the eternal summer, go live your life the way you see fit. We’ll always be secretly jealous!


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