We are so often encouraged to move quickly through uncertainty. Figure it out. Make a plan. Pick a direction. Fill the space. Become the next version of yourself. But what if we didn’t? What if we’re not supposed to? What if we allowed ourselves to linger in the transition and trusted that we don’t have to know yet? Autumn doesn’t seem particularly concerned with what’s next…
Fall is my favorite season.
Many people in my life are surprised by this, but it’s true. Something about the slightly chilled weather that lets me dress in comfy layers and thigh-high boots. I like being able to wear a scarf without needing to wear a scarf, ya know what I mean? It’s SOUP season! I love making homemade chicken noodle soup, chili, and all those recipes that are hearty and filling and warm and just too hot to be eating in the summer. I love the feeling of settling into the cozier parts of the year. The layers. The candles. The crafts. The excuse to make something with my hands just because I feel like it.
And truthfully, aside from the fact that my birthday is in fall, I think I like it most because of these signals of change.
A Season of Transition
I love that, if I allow myself to be present in autumn, the signals of change are quite noticeable, both internally and externally. I notice the cool breeze. I notice my desire for tea and hot chocolate. I notice the shift in the light and the little ways the world starts telling me that something is different.
And I love that this change is subtle. It’s not so cold that I’m avoiding being outdoors. It’s not so hot that I’m desperate to get inside. It’s the in-between. It’s a season all its own, and yet the season itself is an in-between state. It holds all the goodies and magick of not being in any particular extreme. It’s temperate. Chill. The duality and balance of it all is so appealing to me. There is something really lovely about a season that doesn’t seem to need to rush toward the next thing. I love fall because it reminds me that the in-between doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. Because in life, being in the in-between can feel scary.
When Possibility Started Feeling Like Risk
Knowing I am in the midst of change but not being sure yet what the result of that change will be? Being mid-transformation? Terrifying. Anxiety-inducing. EYUCK! And I’m not exactly sure when I started feeling this way.
I used to long for the unknown. I used to love the idea of what could be. Infinite possibilities. New experiences. New things to learn. New versions of myself that I hadn’t even imagined yet. There was something exciting about not knowing what was around the corner because, well, who knew what goodness might be waiting for me there?
Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, though, my relationship with uncertainty changed. Maybe it was getting a steady “big-girl” career and taking on more adult responsibilities. A mortgage. Bills. Commitments. A life that I had worked hard to build. Suddenly, there was more to “lose.”
I started focusing more on what could go wrong and how hard it would be to “fix,” instead of accepting that life is a journey and I’m here to experience it in all its ups and downs. I started thinking more about how to control the outcome than how to experience the process. The unknown stopped feeling like infinite possibility and started feeling like risk. Risk I couldn’t afford to take. Risk I couldn’t trust.
I stopped trusting “risk” and, at some point, I stopped trusting myself.
When did I stop trusting myself? I’d ask why, but I know the answer to that. I’ve been forced to second-guess myself constantly, especially in the workplace but also as a result of being regularly gaslit by my own government. My perceptions and instincts were repeatedly challenged or flat out called “wrong.” I learned, little by little, that maybe I shouldn’t trust what I saw, what I felt, or what I knew. I was encouraged to question whether I’m seeing something clearly, whether I’m responding appropriately, whether I should trust my own instincts. I was encouraged to doubt myself and my experiences. I had been conditioned to distrust myself. And this is not news to me; I know what these environments can do to a person. But I had thought I was compartmentalizing this rewiring of my nervous system to be just for certain spaces. I was wrong. And after a while, it started to penetrate my psyche.
That’s the thing about losing trust in yourself. It doesn’t always happen all at once. Sometimes it happens so gradually that you don’t even realize it. You make one decision and wonder if it was the right one. You have an instinct and talk yourself out of it. You know what you want but convince yourself you should want something else. You become so accustomed to questioning yourself that eventually, the questioning becomes automatic. And before I knew it, I’d stopped believing in my ability to navigate my own life!
But I’ve been rebuilding that trust.
And as I’ve recognized this loss of self-trust and started rebuilding it, the thrill of transitions has started to come back.
Fall makes me feel fluttery and excitable. It makes me smile and want to skip. It makes me want to try a completely new skill just to see what happens. Because who knows what that will spark? It might be a new passion. I might discover a lesson that becomes something I carry with me for years. It might lead to nowhere at all. And isn’t that exciting!? Being in the in-between. Not knowing what you don’t know! Isn’t that such a thrill!? Lol.
I think there is something deeply freeing about realizing that I don’t actually need to know what comes next in order to trust myself.
I can be curious and experiment. I can make a decision without knowing exactly where it will lead me. I can try something new without knowing whether it will work. I can change my mind. I can trust that if I learn something I didn’t know before, I can use that information to make a different decision later. I don’t have to have the whole path mapped out. I just have to trust that I can walk it.
And this is where autumn feels especially meaningful to me. It doesn’t ask me to know what’s next. It asks me to notice what’s here.
Autumn is a season of harvest.
Before moving into whatever comes next, there is an opportunity to pause and take stock of what the past season has given me. What did I grow? What did I learn? What am I proud of? And what do I want to carry with me?
I evaluate my harvest. I take stock of all I want to keep and take into my next season. Some things have served me beautifully and deserve to come with me. Some things have taught me what they needed to teach me, and I don’t need to keep carrying them simply because they were once important.
And I don’t necessarily know what will happen next. I don’t know if I’ll need to further evaluate. I don’t know if there will be more things I need to put down. I don’t know if I’ll pick up things along the way or travel the whole distance with just what I have. I don’t know what I’ll discover about myself once I’m further down the path. I don’t know, and that’s okay. Because I trust myself.
I trust that I did my best. I trust that I made decisions that I can live with. I trust my discernment in evaluating what to keep and what not to. I trust the path I chose and the materials I selected to endure said path. I trust that I have everything I need, or that I can get what I need should I realize or discover a new need.
I trust me.
And thus, navigating transitions aren’t so scary. There is nothing to fear because I am self-reliant and reliable. I can leave something behind without immediately knowing what will replace it. I can make space without rushing to fill it. I can sit in the empty space for a while and allow whatever comes next to reveal itself in its own time.
The Courage to Leave Space
I think one of the greatest gifts of the in-between is that it doesn’t require an immediate answer. I think we underestimate how much courage it takes to leave something empty. We are so accustomed to filling every gap. If something ends, we immediately look for the next thing. If we release something, we want to replace it. If we change, we want to know exactly who we are becoming. We want a plan, a timeline, a destination.
But I think there is something sacred about not knowing yet.
Autumn doesn’t seem particularly concerned with what’s next. It doesn’t rush. The leaves change when it’s time to change. They fall when it’s time to fall. The earth doesn’t panic because the tree is becoming something different. There is no frantic attempt to hold onto summer, and no rush to become winter. There is simply a season. And then, in its own time, another one.
When I look back at my own life, I can see so many moments when I didn’t know what was going to happen next. I remember all I have accomplished. All I was able to achieve. All the times I felt nervous or scared and went for it anyway. All the times I achieved what I set out to do, and all the times I didn’t… but still learned something valuable. I remember the things I thought I couldn’t do until I did them.
I look at how I did something I set my mind to and I am proud. I carry that pride with me. I am grateful to myself for all the work I’ve done and to all those who stood with me. I carry that gratitude with me, too.
This is my invitation for this autumn:
Let’s not figure everything out. Instead of asking ourselves what we need to become next, we can give ourselves permission to notice where we are now. What have you harvested? What are you proud of? What have you learned about yourself? What do you want to carry into your next season? And what are you ready to put down?
And this is not to force ourselves into the next version of who we’re supposed to be. You don’t have to know what will fill the space you create. You don’t have to know exactly where the path is leading. You don’t even have to know what you don’t know yet.
We don’t have to rush through the in-between just because it makes us uncomfortable. We can trust ourselves to be wherever we are. We can linger here for a while. We can let ourselves be in-between. We can trust that we will meet whatever comes next when we get there.
I love autumn because it reminds me of the magick of the in-between; the magick in realizing that whatever comes next, I trust me.
