In the past, autumn encouraged a rebirth in my life. New school years, new adventures, new careers. This September, both children spread their wings and flew far away from our home. The quiet of their absence combined with the lack of social interactions for work and pleasure sent me into a more monastic lifestyle than usual. Initially, fear of a stagnation pressed over me as I endured long day after long day. I was no longer emerging from motherhood, but caught in endless boredom. The leaves changed color and fell to the ground. Things moved on, as they always do.
Instead of fighting the repetition, I’ve embraced it. I meditate and write in the morning, walk the dog at lunch, and work for my clients in the afternoon. In the evening, I fall into the pages of a book, both fiction and non-fiction.
There’s something sacred in my new life. A quiet that doesn’t need to be filled, a patience and understanding of the cycles of life I’d never rested long enough to enjoy. Not as a struggling student, a new attorney, or as a wife or a mother. It’s as though I’m building back my strength. When the pandemic fades into the pages of a history book, I hope to move forward with the renewed spirit of a bear coming out of hibernation, full of strength and excitement for what lies ahead.