In North Carolina, we like to joke about the abundance of autumns we get every year. There’s First Fall, False Fall, Second Fall, Actual Fall, Maybe Fall, Bonus Fall, all punctuated by echoes of summer days past and hints of the winter to come. We recently experienced one of these falls and it was lovely. The temperature was mild, a delicate breeze invited a windbreaker when walking the dog, and I felt the kind of weightlessness that only comes when you’re finally relieved of 95% humidity.
It’s gone now, of course. We have returned to the sauna-like days of summer and the mosquitoes are taking full advantage of the opportunity to suck me dry. Apparently, there’s another storm brewing—hurricane season. If only for a moment, autumn was here nonetheless and despite its short visit, I still found myself thinking those distinctively autumnal thoughts:
“fall, the season of letting go”
“time to shed what isn’t working”
“a new beginning”
It was almost reflexive, impulsive even. I’m sure this stems from a lifetime of programming. Fall was always the start of something new. As a kid, it symbolized the start of a new school year, complete with a new backpack, new shoes, and new t-shirts expressing the new personality I wanted to showcase. It meant the end of summer vacation when you were a free, unburdened, borderline lawless child. Now it was time to set the alarm, pack lunch, and find time to stare out the window at all the fun you could be having outside.
As a good, college-going, American-Dream-chasing, not-yet-disenchanted millennial, I lived this life of autumnal rebirth for the better part of my young adult life. And, well, since I graduated and started working in education, I’ve lived my life to this cadence for the better part of my entire life. At this point, I’m hard-wired to pause, reflect, and pivot in September.
And I’m ok with that.
Walking around with Chopper in the autumn air, I thought about the summer—and the year—I had. I thought about what I’ve accomplished with this blog and how I planned to re-commit myself to it. I thought about my training for my upcoming race, how I’d overtrained myself into a minor injury, and would need to rethink my race plan. I envisioned myself deepening my spiritual practices, getting more in tune with the most high, practicing loving-kindness, and growing in my awareness and appreciation of the present. I felt a rush of excitement from the future I was creating. This is what this time is about, I thought, setting goals and setting out to achieve them.
However, a new thought came up for me, something I never really considered, and which is no doubt a reflection of my dharma-filled year up to this point. Yes, I thought through this being a time of beginning and ending, of reflecting and pivoting, of letting go and shedding old beliefs and habits, of pumpkin spice and warm soups – all the cliches of fall we recycle every year – but more deeply I attuned to the inescapable impermanence that underpins this dramatic seasonal change.
When my mind relaxed from all the future thinking, I began to notice all the changes to this familiar slice of world around the trail. The impenetrable heat and humidity of summer, I understood, are impermanent, giving way to mild breezes and sweater weather. The dense and vibrant green of the surrounding trees is impermanent, soon to transition into a whirl of orange and brown swirling in the wind. The long sunny days, the torrential afternoon showers, the fucking mosquitoes—all the hallmarks of summer—are impermanent and will inevitably surrender to the coming of our First, Second, and Actual Falls. Hell, this First Fall was itself, as North Carolina quickly reminded us, impermanent. I’m hot again.
So too am I impermenent. At its most obvious, one day I will wilt away and die like the leaves blowing around me. On a more nuanced level, however, the person I was last summer, last school year, last night is no more. The person I was as a 12-year-old kid, a 23-year-old kid, and a 29-year-old kid is merely a memory. The person I was in the throes of my dysfunction is someone else now. With every breath, we are something that has never been before and will never be again, as ever-changing as the world around us.
This seeming fragility is a source of incredible strength and possibility. When nothing is permanent, there’s nothing to hold onto, which makes letting go possible and letting go is the source of so much power. Impermanence doesn’t mean I am free from the consequences of my previous behavior or the responsibility of making amends for them, but it does mean I am not trapped by them, defined by them. I can let them go or at least dispel the power they have over me. It means I can stop clinging to the illusive past and surrender to the present, with the freedom and the energy to make a near-infinite number of choices.
This moment, like all moments, is a new beginning. It’s a chance to pause, reflect, and pivot. Not because it’s fall, but because we have no other choice. We can never be who we were and we can’t know who [or if] we will be, but we have the power to choose who we are in this beautifully impermanent now, unburdened by any attachments to the past or expectations for the future.
So let go, surrender to the coming fall, embrace this new beginning. Read the book. Write the story. Go for the run. Tell them you love them. Calm down and understand the mosquito is just trying its best. Savor the apple, the pumpkin spice latte, the warm soup. One day, we too will fall like the leaves around us. The only time we have is now.
Like Master Oogway said, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.”
food for thought
“Letting go gives us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If, in our heart, we still cling to anything - anger, anxiety, or possessions - we cannot be free.”
“It is not impermanence that makes us suffer. What makes us suffer is wanting things to be permanent when they are not. We need to learn to appreciate the value of impermanence. If we are in good health and are aware of impermanence, we will take good care of ourselves. When we know that the person we love is impermanent, we will cherish our beloved all the more. Impermanence teaches us to respect and value every moment and all the precious things around us and inside of us. When we practice mindfulness of impermanence, we become fresher and more loving.”
— Thich Nhat Hanh
a question
What are you still holding on to? How would it feel to let it go?
If you do write something and you would like to share it, I’d love to read it. You can send it to theguidelines@substack.com or leave a comment.
stuff to share
“Prayer can be motion and stillness and energy—all at the same time. It begins with stopping in our tracks… we finally stop running away and at long last walk or lurch or crawl toward something. Or maybe, miraculously, we just release our grip slightly.”
I started reading Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers by Anne Lamott. I like how she explains prayer as simply being in conversation with something greater than yourself, something as secular or sacred as you want or need it to be.
I have been going back to Lupe Fiasco’s Samurai recently. This is quietly one of 2024’s best albums for me, certainly one of the most creative. The concept of a story about Amy Winehouse becoming a battle rapper is just excellent.
Speaking of samurai (which is a theme in my life right now), I’m [finally] watching the fifth and final season of Samurai Jack. I’m enjoying the darker, more mature tone of the show. I appreciate that it’s grown up with its audience in that way. I think a part of me never wanted to finish the show because it kinda feels like a piece of my childhood is ending. But hey, impermanence right?
You liking anything right now? I’m always taking recommendations.
I noticed this week that it’s been over a year since I started this Substack—minus the whole four-month mental health hiatus. That’s pretty cool and worth celebrating.
Here’s a shoutout to my first essay, ASL. I’m still super proud of that piece. And I’m proud of all the work I have put into this newsletter.
Thanks for being here. Extra loud shout out to Cam and Ted for buying me some coffee! I really, truly appreciate the support. It means so much to me. <3
Until next time.
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