I can’t believe it’s been a year since we last saw each other; last time I wrote you, you were making your exchange with November, and we said our goodbyes. But now here we are, once again, reunited with stories to tell.
I’m sure I look very much the same and very much different. I’m the same me that you remember. Here I am, once again, on my back patio at home drinking coffee and reading Donald Miller listening to Vance Joy and Ed Sheeran . . . a predictable move, I’m sure. I still have that short, choppy, haircut. And yes, I’m still behind in my reading – I’m getting better, but I don’t think I’ll ever be “up-to-date” with my assignments.
But things are quite different since we last talked. When your sister May melted the last drop of winter and completed the transaction that launched us into summer, she took several other things with her besides the snow and ice. Many of the people we knew and loved together last year are living and loving in different places now. Some of the stories are sad, yes, but most of them are just a case of time moving forward. We stopped having movie nights every Friday, they moved to new places, they went abroad for a few months. None of them are bad; it’s just how life happens. Our stories changed us into different and better people; we’re still doing good things, just not together anymore.
If you remember, October, I used to look at you with disgust. Your arrival meant the soon, sharp coming of your harsh and icy siblings November, December, January and February (who I am still trying my very best to be kind and show love to.) You coming back to town meant it gets darker sooner, I need to start wearing socks again, and I need to start coordinating my outfits with my coats (which I inevitably give up on.)
But, my dear October, I think you’ve taught me more about renewal than Spring ever has. You’ve taught me that it’s healthy to shake off the things in your life that weigh you down. When everything around you is brown, turning a bright color like red or yellow brings hope to those around you. And maybe you make it colder and darker because you want to remind us that it’s okay to curl up and rest.
After being re-introduced for the twenty-first time, you seem less like a distant relation and more like an old friend. I can’t wait to see how you change the leaves, the air, and my story this year. The changing of the seasons reminds me that I , too, must keep changing.
Welcome, October. I’m glad you’re here.