October, my most absolute favorite month of the year. Growing up in the Midwest it was filled with joy and expectations of change. Fresh air, wind that kicks up colorful leaves, cozy sweatshirts and scented candles. All of it, I loved it all.
And I’ll confess that I’ve spent the last 15 years trying to recreate the magic of October. My pumpkin spice candles burning in 90-degree weather isn’t quite the same. The lush green and constant heat is a reminder that things have indeed changed, and I’m no longer the wild and free teenager that ran to the refrains of Simple Plan’s chorus to “wake me up when September ends.”
This October has been different, challenging at my core. I would love nothing more than to escape to a cabin to read to my heart’s content, to write without end, and buy all the amazing pens, paper, and candles. I so badly want that cozy and introspective evening wrapped in flannel. Yet, I am a proper adult with proper responsibilities, and the magic of October is no longer an effortless vibe.
My head has been spinning with deep thoughts ever since we returned from a trip stateside. Per usual, I purchased an unhealthy number of books. The night before our flight I shoved them between the cracks of packing cubes as Michael exclaimed his familiar complaints, “No more books, Alison! Do you even read these? They’re so heavy! Can’t you get a kindle?” To which I retorted. “Sure, buy me one for Christmas.”
Ironically, that bag exploded on the airport tarmac in Costa Rica, Phoebe saw it happen from her airplane window and let us know that our cheap, 5-dollar, tarped bag from target had torn. I blame the tarp. Amazingly, we still got the books.
It’s been a while since my shelves have been filled to the brim which prompts my second confession; I may have bought too many books. This October, all free moments were devoted to indulging beautifully crafted sentences from authors on AI, parenting, solitude, ageing, and purpose. It sounds great, until you factor in the constant demands on my plate as a mother of four kids under six years. That’s a lot of meals, dishes, laundry, butt wiping, and toy pick up – not to mention the emotional needs of little hearts in motion.
More often than I’d like to admit, my head is half there as I kneel to listen to my girls tell me of their daily escapades. The advent of reading books this fall has caused an internal swell of existential questions: What is truth? What matters most? What do we do with our time? What future remains for our children? What will we do about it?
This reading was fun at first except now I can’t stop, it’s as if I’m trying to solve a problem and my heart feels heavy. Burdened even. It’s ridiculous if you think about it. I’m a mother of four tiny humans, living in Costa Rica, and I feel burdened to respond to the narrative of each book with invisible debates. How to be a better human, a better neighbor, to sit at the feet of Jesus. Do I really need to apologize to my kids all the time? Each author asks me to think – and think- and think – then do.
Enough. I’ve had enough. They’re all good, great books! But I’m tired of thinking so deeply all the time. I hate to say it, but I’m ready to fill my shelf with fiction instead!
Let’s go back to basics. What really made October so magical each year was being present. It was finding joy in the fresh autumn leaves. It was feeling the wind on my cheeks with a big inhale, palms up and eyes closed. I was fully present back then. Somehow this big pile of books which I thought would give me the rest I deserved has instead pulled me away from the life unfolding through my children’s eyes.
I want to be there, fully engaged when their little hearts rage and we don’t know why. I want to be compassionate when they fall and extend mercy when they lie. My presence provides a consistent warm reprimand, because I see that they’re still learning. And a hug at nighttime when they cry with absolutely no thought of why.
I almost got it all wrong. October isn’t so much about me pondering big life questions and season’s changing. Rather its magic is found in the awareness of life unfolding as each day passes. Counting our days and living them intentionally. Here, now. A gentle response goes much further than a deep thought on what to do with our finances because AI is going to take over the world.
This fall I might not get to enjoy the changing leaves and have all the pumpkin spice scented candles I desire. I don’t have cute brown boots and trendy shades of orange and red, or the perfect hair cut with a flare of highlights. No, Instead I have a snot-stained t-shirt, my hair frazzled under a new hairclip (hello new trend), and four little girls wanting to blast music and dance. And I suppose that is enough for now. Perhaps I need to turn the page of life a little more slowly and just enjoy the messiness of life unfolding in this season. The books can wait. Happy fall ya’ll!
(Michael – this doesn’t mean I can’t buy more books. It’s just a pause).