Seasons

I want to say that I have lived in Upstate New York for ten years now, but there is some debate among New Yorkers as to where exactly Upstate begins. I suppose it is more accurate to just say that I live in the Hudson Valley of New York.

Seasons have been an integral part of my life in the decade since I moved here from Southern California. They went from novelty, to ruling my life, to minor inconvenience… but somehow always pure joy. Until I moved here, I thought that the only season that really mattered was autumn, but then I met spring after a long, hard winter. Spring is the underrated season of the four. But spring is a story for another day. Fall is the familiar favorite that is the centerpiece of today.

I came to New York after a stint of living in the Dominican Republic. I arrived during a snowstorm in January, and my roommate had to meet me at the airport with boots and a jacket since at that point I barely owned anything that offered more coverage than a pair of shorts. It took a few years of living here to understand how to dress for each of the seasons, and that seasons do not really match three perfect months of the year. Seasons are a part of nature that let you know they are coming by a change in the air, not a date on the calendar.

For many years I have staunchly held onto the autumnal equinox date to start allowing myself to really enjoy the season. But there has been a change in the air of the season of my life and this year felt different. Maybe it’s letting go of perfectionism, of how I think things should be. Maybe I have discovered the sweet spot that exists in enjoying things for what they are, when they happen. While I still don’t believe in pulling out the autumn box in the beginning of August (let’s let summer be summer), I fully recognize that the crisp mornings and pumpkins available at farmstands at the end of August make it okay to start enjoying the season before September 22^nd.

This year, the fall-colored clothes and Mary Janes were pulled out the first weekend of September to kick off a weekend in the city. My book club just finished reading Thunder Dog by Michael Hingson and decided there was no more appropriate place to discuss the book than New York City. In September. It would be a quick overnight trip, but one that I had been looking forward to for weeks.

Four of nine books read with the club. The rest have been lent out, likely never to return.

I realized, as I was throwing my clothes into my overnight bag, how excited I was to spend the beginning of my favorite season with four of my favorite women. I had spent the prior autumns in New York wishing and hoping to spend my favorite season with my favorite person. Unfortunately, none of the boyfriends in my head had panned out to be my favorite person. One autumn, I was even imaginarily dumped by one of my imaginary boyfriends (real guys that didn’t know I imagined us dating)! There has been a bit of a vicious cycle of seeing a pretty leaf and feeling a pang of sadness at seeing it “alone”. Or remembering a previous autumn spent imagining a future that never arrived.

But I digress.

Fortunately, there had been a moratorium on thoughts of romance and a cessation of imaginary boyfriends. And so, I found myself snuggled in a car, with four dear friends from my book club, and one dog, driving down the Palisades Parkway, looking at the first peaks of changing colors out the window.

We spent the next 24 hours wandering around the Upper East Side, talking about the book (10/10 recommend), art theory, dream travel, family dynamics, and new beginnings. One of the women planned an exciting pasta making experience, we ate good food, drank great coffee, and had an epic grownup sleepover. At one point, one of the women said, “I feel like I’m in a movie.” I knew what she meant. I always kind of feel like that… except I usually feel like I’m in a TV show with endless seasons.

The Signature Pasta Experience at Aunt Jake's... 10/10 recommend.

I think I said “I’m so happy” every ten minutes. After it was all over, I was driving home, listening to my well-curated fall playlist, in awe of a perfect Sunday, thinking about how this was the real love story of this season. My friends. And not just the four other women and one dog in my book club. A montage of recent moments with my loved ones came to mind: my seven-year-old bestie telling me everything I do is cute and constantly bringing me flowers, his mom and my longtime bestie opening a tab of her heartbreak with me, the two women that washed my hair for me two weeks in a row, baseball games with my family, a dinner party filled with odd hydrangeas and balloons…

My heart was full and I released a cry of gratitude to the One who gave and who gives it all to me. I realized that I was in a season with my favorite people. And someday the air will change, and I will be in a new season, maybe the season I have spent much time imagining. But this current season I am in… well, I have a feeling I will rewatch it for years to come