My Wednesday night women’s group never fails to be enlightening. Something about the class makes me think deeper, and this past Wednesday night was no different. In our discussion, a young mother said ‘the season of my life’. Someone had told this woman that she was in the season of raising children. And she is…three of them, and she’s in so deep that a life without chaos seems unfathomable to her.
On the way home, her words washed back through me. Her life season is surely summer. No longer a baby in spring, living without the burdens of life, she’s now in the full throes of summer. This is her growing season – filled with abundant life, filled with buds and blooms. And even though it may feel too hot at times, it’s the most bountiful time she’ll ever have.
But then I realized…my summer season is ending. I’m certainly past the years of producing babies, and most assuredly no longer thirty. My season is fall. Something about that realization brought a sudden rush of tears to my eyes. It’s more than the realization that my children are no longer babies. It’s more than the graceless steps of aging. Maybe it’s knowing life is progressing steadily along, sometimes vanishing in big sections of time, while I work on hanging on to what’s left.
Still, fall has always been my favorite season. The colors, the refreshing feel of the air after a long hot summer. If this is the season of my life, I will embrace it. I’m more secure in my skin than I’ve ever been, more independent, more sure of what I want and don’t want. It’s really an incredible feeling. Simple joy in nature, kindness and laughter feel so much better than ever before. My dreams continue to grow in this season…things I want to do, places I want to see. And even though my landscape has changed, I know I’m still me…just in a slightly different light.