On Autumn

Hello! It’s been a while!

Since my last post, I found myself caught up in a whirlwind of summer. I took a trip to Dublin with my family—something I think I can always go back to in my mental memory slideshow—and was roped into work to the point of exhaustion. I would come home and go to sleep; I didn’t have the mental capacity to consider even writing down my musings (although in retrospect, I should have, Dublin was the best).

But, that aside, I found that what drew me back to my safe haven is the onset of my favorite season: Fall. But, it’s a bittersweet motive, at best. I have been anticipating Fall since a July weekend of 105 degrees. I started buying fall candles in early August. As soon as September started, those candles were lit ten-fold. As I walked the aisles of my candle purveyors during my lunch break, sneaking peeks at fall decor, I felt a longing grow within.

When was the last time I really got to experience Fall? Autumn Fall. Fall Fall. It took me until this week to realize that it was when I was still in high school. It was the last time I dressed up for Halloween. I’d look forward to crisp nights at the football games, where I didn’t even watch the games. Instead, I hung out with my emo friends by the bleachers. I wanted bon fires, hayrides, apple picking, leaf peeping, pumpkin carving, goat-petting, and to experience the aroma of my mother’s spicy cooking enwrap me in love after I came in from a shivery evening. I wanted haunted hayrides and I wanted to use my infantile appearance to trick my neighbors into giving me candy. I wanted horror movies and scary video games. I wanted to look at the fall foliage while also listening to my favorite rock bands, my phone safely tucked into my black hoodie. I wanted heated cider, pumpkin waffles, and smokey tea. I wanted community.

Instead, since leaving home for higher education (and more opportunity), I was grasping at these experiences through little things I could afford. I bought candles to remind me of home, made curry for myself, and carried cider, becoming lukewarm, on my rushes to class.

It became sloppier and more alienated as I got older.

Now, candles burn while I stay indoors for eight hours of my day. I go home tired, unable to find any energy to explore during my evenings or weekends. The city has manufactured green-space; there is no calmness in its trees or down-trodden grass. Pumpkins are hard to find and there is no place to put them on display. The season keeps heating up, despite my personal efforts at reducing my carbon footprint. Maybe I’m looking back with too much influence from the Golden Age fallacy, maybe not. But I do find myself craving those experiences, both solitary and social, that made me happy. Perhaps it’s a side-effect of living in an urban metropole. Perhaps it’s a side-effect of aging. But, nonetheless, I want it back, and I don’t know how to get it.