With the changing of the seasons, I have been reminded how all life goes in cycles. Within each of us, there are seasons to our life. Old bits of ourselves die and leave in order to make way for new growth. The death of these bits is necessary. We simply can’t continue to grow and evolve and have the capacity to hold it all within.
I spent this fall hiking through the mountains, reveling in the changing colors, rejoicing vivid yellows, oranges, and reds. I find it ironic that while we embrace these changes in nature, we don’t celebrate the dying of bits of ourselves. In nature, we know this vivid display is a final hurrah for the year for these trees, and that Spring is assured to come with a new growth, a new cycle. But within ourselves, we cling to the bits of our old self, sure that if we unfurl our fingers, something better may not come to fill our waiting hands.
I am learning to trust. To trust that my empty hands, left fallow by the fragment of myself that is now fluttering in the wind, will be filled with a new blooming of myself.