Lessons From October

October, I should hate you. 

But where has hate every gotten me or any of us?

So many of life’s major blows (trauma, perhaps?) came to me during the month of October. The worst part of that? It is a month I’ve always adored and looked forward to, and yet it put up the biggest fight against me to hate it. Leave it. Find a new show. But like love, it’s not always easy, and it’s a choice (love is a verb - I repeat, love is a verb; love is not a feeling. People is the cheap seats, can you hear me?) that we can make every day. One of the many lessons October taught me. 

I love the colors bursting at the seams in their last act before “Cut!” “End scene” and their ultimate death. I love the first time I smell a fireplace on an evening walk with my dog. I love hoodies and cozy long sleeve shirts. I love how it’s like the refreshing emotion of hearing a friend’s voice and catching up after it has been quite some time, at no fault of anyone’s. (Mom Life/Working Mom life...) It’s the chill in the air reminding you that you have blankets at home, hopefully, to comfort you from the cold. It's hot (and cold!) apple cider. It's sipping on that cider while listening to a live band on a farm or watching your new program in front of the fireplace.

October, despite your challenges you presented, I still choose to love you not only because of the beauty you bring, aside from the ruthless you served, but because of the lessons you taught which I will forever hold dear to me. They made me into the person I always was, releasing me from the narrative I was going along with, the part I was playing for so long without even realizing it. Cut, end scene. 

They are the exact reasons I can enjoy you again. What a dichotomy. October teaches us that we have to let go of the dead and trust that we will be reborn again. Letting go, without a backup plan, without another option, without proof there will be joy on the other side of what seemed like endless pain, that we will come alive again is terrifying. Without the evidence that your metamorphosis will be worth can be debilitating. Yet here I am. Now, when someone else needs the proof, I can smile and take their hand.

I chose to trust you, October.  You gave me the strength to believe, that like the trees, I will become alive again. The trust that everything which was removed was replaced with something much more aligned for my continued growth (in my personal life, my integrity and values, my marriage and family, my education, my career, and my emotional development which ties so closely into all the mentioned and aspects of life). And the faith, to not just settle for anything, will give me exactly what I've always wanted. 

October, you're more than I ever bargained for and that is something I just cannot hate. It would be like hating myself.