Autumn Day

Remember that old song from the sixtiesSee  You in September“? Back then, it was about returning to the school year and reconnecting with friends, classmates, boyfriends or girlfriends after a summer hiatus. It was a circle of completion. After a summer “off”, it was time to hit the books, study, and make grades.

In my reflection of those years, there was a certain predictability to the circadian rhythm of life. Now, I am troubled by September. It really signifies a time when I am reaching what poets call the “autumn” of my life. There are a lot of unknown variables. Will I continue to produce services of value, connect with my clients, and be resourceful enough to move into areas not yet explored? I think about my health and how to preserve it. Do I have the stamina to continue being involved with activities that make me happy? I didn’t think I’d have these thoughts creep up on a stunning September day but here they are, nagging me.

Autumn was always a great kickoff time. Learn something new. Get into the grind of work at school. It was exciting and created a focus. There was always winter school break to look forward to. In this moment, I feel as if time has stopped to allow me to assess where I am going, what will I do, who shall I be. It’s the WHO one that’s the kicker. I never thought of myself as an “old” person.

I have been a friend, a wife, a mother, a business woman, a volunteer, a champion and now I have a new person to develop – a writer. That’s not new news to me but it may be to others. I have written technical documents, project plans and reviews. But this time, it’s personal. It’s me writing about my view, my experience and my life. And, there’s something clawing at my confidence.

Good writers share an experience. It’s the sharing that breathes life into the words. True, it has to be written in a way that will grab attention, but I think about all the ordinary experiences in life that seem to take on an ethereal glow or grow larger in importance in the hands of a capable wordsmith. The experience can be something so mundane it eludes awareness or so great it commands attention. I think of Emily Dickinson and her poem about a fly for the insignificant, and Shakespeare’s work when I consider a grander scale.

How does my writing stand up to thoughts expressed and emotions evoked? Am I really too old to embark on a writing journey? And, does it matter to any one else but me? I really don’t know. And, I’ll never know unless I do it. Make it part of me.

From articles I’ve read to speaking with friends, it’s not the things you do you regret as much as the ones you didn’t. When you reach an age that causes you to reassess your life’s experience, you can always begin something new. It may be the end of summer, but here’s an opportunity to erase regrets of inaction going forward.