I’ve come to measure time not by years, but by the seasons of my life. This concept was first introduced to me by an old mentor when I was in my teens. She taught me that life would unfold in ways I wouldn’t expect. I’ve carried this metaphor with me into adulthood; it’s helped me visualise the everlasting changes that come in ebbs and flows throughout my life.
Similarly, the seasons of the year: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Ever since I decided to move to the northern hemisphere, these seasons have become more apparent. The cold winters with their wet, short days. Spring, when the wildflowers bloom. Summer, when the temperature reaches just high enough to sit on the grass and read a book in the park. And my favourite, autumn. When the leaves change colour, scarf weather, the vibrant reds, yellows, oranges, and shades of green. This time of year, I wish I could take pictures with my eyes. The closest thing I have is my camera, and even still, it doesn’t do it justice.
Recently, I met my cousin for the first time. Not my first or second cousin, one that runs so far deep into the family tree that I’d almost need a diagram to find her. We met briefly for a day but promised to see each other again soon to properly get to know one another. A few weeks later, she’d booked her flight, and together we took a short road trip to some familiar and new places in Ireland.
My favourite part about this trip was getting to know her on a deeper level, experiencing new places and creating new memories. My second favourite part was that it was autumn, and we both shared the same love for photography and adventure. Together, we talked about our upbringings, our parents, our travels, our misfortunes, and our dreams, and most of all, we captured it all through our lenses.
Mostly, we shared this mutual feeling of not knowing what’s next. That uncertainty that simultaneously motivates and halts you. The mid-twenties feeling of “what now?” It’s something I’m sure isn’t lost on us both, and that many people our age must feel.
For me, this feeling is synonymous with the change of weather. It’s the end of October; November is fast approaching, meaning winter is right around the corner. The leaves are starting to fall off the trees, the wind is picking up, there’s a nip of cold in the air, rain is more frequent, and the days are shorter.
But there’s this quiet in-between. A few sunny days each week, pumpkins still sold at the markets. A subtle transition period before the definitive moment when autumn ends and winter begins. This transition is met with uncertainty: what will I wear today? Will it rain? Pumpkin spice latte or just a regular one?
One thing I’ve learned is that during this change, the trees remain strong. They don’t fall, they don’t whine, they withstand the changes, as I aim to do also.
I find this is a recurring pattern in my life. The lifestyle I’ve chosen permits change pretty regularly. Every four to six months, something new is on the way, whether that’s a solo adventure in a new country or a season of work away. Change manifests in different ways in my body, and it’s important for me to monitor this.
I’ve learned to honour the wisdom of my body and spirit. Even with the “what now” feeling, I’ve learned to observe it and trust it. I’ve learned to feel it, even when it’s uncomfortable, because growth comes with discomfort. And clarity, I’ve found, emerges through trust, presence, and embodied listening.
The seasons will always change. Nothing ever stays the same, what goes up must come down (thanks Miley Cyrus for the genius lyrics). The discomfort lives in my body, and I’ve learned to be okay with it.
After spending a few days with my cousin, I noticed she shared this feeling. We spoke a little about her desire to go back to New Zealand. No plans had been set in stone, and she still had a few commitments to attend to. But I had this unwavering trust in the universe, or God, or spirit, that what was meant for her would come to pass. Opportunities would present themselves, and if she’s the person I got to know, she’d run with the wind toward whatever felt right.
What I’m trying to say is this: have faith in the seasons of life. Change is inevitable, why fight it? Sometimes it’s uncomfortable, heavy, unexpected, long. But there are things we can control and things we can’t. Have faith in the alignment, and trust that by being present with yourself, the body will always tell you first. The mind will follow, and then we’ll have entered a new season
