First of all, how am I supposed to write about change?
Not-so-dramatic sigh.
I could write a 10-page paper for class about the science behind autumn, how the seasons change, and how visually appealing it can be, inspiring drinks and fashion. I don't know what my therapist was thinking. It's not like writing about a few paragraphs will magically make me accept things. I am surely aware that change naturally occurs all the time, but it's not as easy as the leaves having a quick change or the air turning crisp overnight. Change is often not as lovely as this; it can be a sudden gust of wind that rips things out of your hands, and you don't even have time to process what happened.
So, here I am, at a coffee shop, with my second pumpkin spice drink on standby.
"Change (!)" ... I swear I can hear my inner thoughts scoffing.
Change, and I just don't get along. Why can't things be the same? No need to dabble in probability. Same old, same old, predictability and security. I swear change is a controversy, and autumn is just natural propaganda. Who am I kidding? All change does is take away from my life. Routines. People. Places. This paper is going to turn brown before I write anything; how am I supposed to write a poetic masterpiece about change- wait, that's not what I need to write about.
Deep sigh.
Well, umm, I don't know, I guess autumn isn't too bad.
Autumn does not rush anything; it's almost steady. Leaves that change from a flushing green to a deep burgundy is drastic, but even when the colors are opposites; the change is gradual and slow. And although the leaves themselves fall, the tree itself doesn't die. It just rests.
Fine, I can admit that sometimes change can be slow and in different stages, but what about the times when it feels like a hurricane? At this point, I'm pretty sure I am a palm tree facing hundred-mile winds, holding onto my leaves.
But who am I kidding? Holding on only hurts me. That's pretty much why I'm at this point in my life. The more I fight, the harder it will become. Maybe... just maybe, I have to let things go. And if I just let old things fly by? Will I be able to go with the flow?
Don’t get it twisted, I am not sold on the idea of change, but at least I would not feel so uncomfortable or stressed with just a breeze. I know hope alone won’t be the only thing to get me there; I’ll have to also put in some effort.
Deep breath.
Take it slow, one leaf at a time, and hopefully after winter has blown over... new things will grow in their place.
Last leaf...
It is difficult to change, especially when changing is never the same. The past must be grieved before being able to let things go and turn a new leaf. And that’s okay too.
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