The beauty of late autumn

And mentally preparing for a hard winter

The end of November marked six months (and my 50th subscriber!) since my very first Substack post! I feel like I've learned and grown a lot in that time, both on and off of Substack.

I'm grateful that I was encouraged to take the leap and start writing here, because I really believe that it has added stability to my writing practice, and in doing so, has allowed me to process things in a way I otherwise may not have.

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Photo by Georg Eiermann on Unsplash

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I look out at the quiet of the woods this time of year and it often has a feeling of melancholy. Suddenly, it seems, we are long past the crisp, striking beauty of early autumn. The frenzy of growth has slowed, and the trees and wildlife have turned inward.

Like autumn, the early stages of healing and growth are often bright and flashy. But later, as things slow down and we turn quietly inward - and people become less interested in or enamoured by the current season - is when the colours deepen and become richer. It's where all the growth and labour we've already done is meant to carry us through.

But, of course, winter can be brutal.

This year, I skipped the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I opted out of Black Friday sales. I've decided to forego the Christmas tree and keep gift purchases and holiday events to a minimum. This is partly because of moral qualms about things like genocide and consumerism, and partly because I just don't have the energy.

My overarching intention for this year has been to be more intentional about every aspect of my life; to pay attention to what works for me and my family, what feels right, and to let go of anything that doesn't.

I have confronted a number of facets of my life throughout this year what that intention in mind, and I have learned so much.

In my exploration, I've found ways to make my life more beautiful, meaningful, hopeful, and functional. I've gained insight about myself, and what I really need and value.

But some of what I've learned has been difficult to navigate and move forward from, and as I turn inward here, at the end of the year, I've realized that I'm grieving and tired, and that this winter, physically and metaphorically, is likely going to be a difficult one to get through.

I'm so proud of all the work I've done this year, and I'm still excited about what's to come. I have no intention of shying away from this next part; in many ways, I'm grateful for it. I know that I will continue growing through it even if I can't see the evidence of it for some time.

I suppose all of this is to say that you can expect a lot of the same messy, complicated, (and sometimes seemingly contradictory) feelings to show up here along with me and my words, and I'm grateful to you for holding all of them, and for seeing the value in them, and in my writing.

On that note, I'll leave you with this poem I wrote mid-October:

Sometimes, when bones break, 
they have to be re-broken 
in order to heal well. 
Sometimes, I think 
that's what my heart is doing, 
over and over, 
breaking and re-breaking, 
to heal well. 
Sometimes, I think 
that's what the world is doing, 
over and over, 
breaking and re-breaking, 
to heal well. 

At least, 
I hope it is. 

I hope this season is treating you well. I hope amongst the grief, you are finding beauty. If you'd like a space to share either, please join us in the comments. And, as always, feel free to share if this resonated with you.