A college friend recently surveyed folks on Facebook about whether they preferred the first spring day or a fine crisp fall day. No question for me; spring’s my season, full of hope and promise and redemption and resurrection and fresh smells and newness. Fall for me is more a time of resignation–dead leaves, shorter days, heavier clothes, deferred dreams.
This fall is different for many of my friends. I’had lunch recently with a friend whose husband will be relocating hundreds of miles away to work on a project that’s important to our country. This weekend, I went to a party for a friend who’s retiring after twenty-five years in a meaningful job with a terrific boss. She’s got big travel and service plans. The following night, I went to another party for a friend who just turned forty and moved into the condo of her dreams. Next weekend, I’m going to Florida to see my best friend, who’s embarking on a new phase of her life after ending a six-year romantic relationship. My sister on Tuesday is headed for Bulgaria to make a presentation, and doesn’t yet know where she’s staying or how she’s getting there from the airport.
To quote from “Enough to Be on Your Way,” one of my favorite James Taylor songs, they’re all “wild with expectation on the edge of the unknown.”
For me, it’s just another basic, manic fall. As far as I know, no major life changes–professional, romantic, or travel–are looming. So I’ll celebrate the adventures my friends are embarking upon, and revel in my own rare time of predictability.
And look forward to the personal renewal that spring always brings.
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