There’s something about October, something about the gentle way fall tucks summer into bed for the year that has always had a way of pulling me back to myself. Pulling me back into remembering. I sit, goosebumped girl, a stranger in fall temperatures, skin that is relearning the airs subtle sting. There’s romance in the way the trees decorate themselves, painting the horizons red and gold, brightly, boldly, shamelessly, knowing that they will be gone in a matter of weeks. Knowing that this marvelous show, this grand welcome, is fleeting. They are wise enough to not get stuck, but free enough to give color to their season.
I have always been drawn to the leaves, admiring their ability to let go, even though a colder season may be coming.
We are a human race walking around with glue on the bottoms of our feet, stuck to wherever we end up standing. The places we are most often found stuck to are the noteworthy ones. The bold moments, the pretty ones, where we did something worthy of being put on the highlight reel. And then we set up camp there, and later find ourselves suffocating somewhere underneath the weighty expectation that we should still be doing those things, living bigger, grander, taking up more space.
But then, we are not. We are struck with the unpleasant truth that this day laid out in front of us, flashing like hideous led taillights, is the one that we must show up to, noteworthy or not.
Here, typing to you from under the weighty expectations of grandeur, I want to tell you the most important thing that I am coming to learn, through gritted teeth; Showing up.
And I want to tell you that you cannot show up to this messy, mediocre day, if your feet are still glued to the ground in a really really good day. You do not get to pick and choose- you must, as I see it, just show up.
Today is not big, it is not flashy, and I’m certainly not bursting at the seams to tell someone all about it. No. Rather, today, I did my laundry, I went to the grocery store, had a panic attack in the toothpaste isle, cried a handful of times before noon. But this is where my feet are planted, and this is where the most wildly creative, poetic God is writing the bigger story. There is something holy to be found in finding yourself stuck in the ugly, painful, ordinary moments. Something holy about folding your darks and lights with the kind of wisdom that the leaves change color with - You are not here forever.
And so today, I shiver against the same wind that the leaves dance in. And I, like them, am going to show up, even if only for a moment.