It’s a choice. To see the beauty in the endings, as well as the beginnings.

Samhain (October 31st) marks the end of the Celtic year, the end of the summer and of the harvest season. The end of one turn of the wheel and the beginning of a new one. This time is a sacred threshold between worlds, a liminal space between what has been before and what is yet to be. 

Some dread this time of year – the steady decline of what was once lush, green and full of life into shades of brown and barrenness. Others find there is nothing more beautiful. 

So far this year, I’ve written about the themes of Surrender & Transformation, Devotion & Trust, Immersion & Integration and how they’ve been playing out in my life. So much of what I’ve learned this year has been about letting go. Letting go of outgrown identities, of other people’s expectations, of perfectionism, of the need to know or control the outcome before taking action, of the fear of making mistakes or making myself vulnerable. 

Standing here in mid-autumn, I feel stripped as bare as the branches of the trees soon will be. I’ve been here several times in recent years. But the difference is, this time I’m not afraid.

I’ve gone through this cycle enough times now to welcome it like an old friend. Now is the time for slowing down, for reflecting on the growing I’ve done this year and solidifying the lessons I’ve learned. And also considering what needs to be released and composted back to the earth before deep winter comes. There are certain things I can’t take with me where I’m going. 

That’s not to say there is no grief or pain that comes with letting go. In fact it’s when the letting go stops being painless that you know you are doing the real work. That’s when you know you’ve gone beyond the surface level, and into the real meat of things. 

Three years ago, I wrote about being afraid to let go.

“All the trees are losing their leaves and not one of them is worried”. - Donald Miller⠀
In this season, I’m finding again and again that I’m meant to let go. Of the control I once imagined I had, of expectations of how I should spend my time, of things I thought I would have achieved by now, of the opinions of others...sometimes I do worry that after all this letting go, what of me will be left? I can choose to be afraid of what’s to come or I can choose to have faith that I’m being refined and that through it all, I am enough. Autumn leaves fall with the faith that they will rise again, and so will I.

I was putting on a brave face but that fear was real and warranted. It was the autumn of 2019, and I didn’t have the faintest clue of what lay ahead. If you read my very first Reflections post from midwinter, you know how this story ends. I was worried that there would be nothing left of me at the end of this process, but the answer was in the last line all along…

Fallen leaves don’t actually rise again do they? No, they die. They fully disintegrate and decompose back into the earth, becoming nutrients for the mother tree to draw up through its' roots, nourishing the growth of new leaves in the spring. The new leaves are not the same as the old, yet they carry their imprint within them on a cellular level.

If I could go back in time and give that anxious, new mother version of myself one piece of advice, I would offer this:

Don’t be afraid to become someone your current self wouldn’t recognize. Your outer life may change completely, but the core of who you are inside will always remain. It’s a natural to mourn versions of yourself that once were but will never be again. It’s normal to grieve the loss of options — versions of yourself that could have been, if things were different. This feels hard because it is. It’s so hard. But…

You can trust that when you finally meet this new person you are becoming, she will be worth it all.

Some journal prompts for your own mid autumn reflections

There’s a years-end ritual I’ve been doing for several years now. In the past, I would do these journal prompts right around December 31st. These days, I am enjoying observing Samhain as the pagan New Years Day and mid-autumn as a beautiful opportunity to reflect and release before winter starts, so winter can truly be about rest, recuperation and dreaming. I also used to choose a word of the year as part of this exercise, but now I prefer to let that word find me in its own time, which tends to be in the late winter thaw, when I notice the very first signs of the coming spring.

Read: The Wheel of the Year | A Framework for Soulful, Seasonal Living

Think back over the past year, starting back in January. I like to pull up my camera roll and look through my journal to jog my memory of what was happening each month and where my head was at. 

• What do I want to celebrate? What were the highlights?

• Think of back to a moment (or several) in the past 9 months where you felt truly alive. What people, places, events, things are present in those memories?  Prioritize these in the coming year.

• What am I most grateful for in this past year? Could be a person, a lesson, a change you made. 

• What felt heavy this year? Is there anything weighing on me that feels unresolved? What do I need to let go of in order to make space for new growth?

• What do you want to feel most in the coming year?