October 31, 2023

I feel a bit like the last rose of summer. My petals are dropping, the color is beginning to fade, and one hopes the rose bushes in the garden will survive another winter.
How’s that for being dramatic? I remind myself I am an enneagram 4, The Individualist, and we 4s tend to be expressive, self-absorbed, temperamental and yes, dramatic. Sigh!
I am in a sort of sulking mood —also typical of 4s.
I slept well, but don’t feel rested.
I don’t feel like reading. That is never the case for me, so what is going on? Sunday night instead of reading in the evening I watched an old episode of British Baking Show, one I had seen before, of course, and I even remembered who would be named Star Baker that week.
I don’t feel like writing. Not even this blog post. I recently submitted an essay to an online newsletter that has published my essays two previous times, but this time the response was “thanks, but no thanks.” Actually, the editor kindly made suggestions and offered some questions to consider. When I have licked my wounds, I will sit with what she said, but not today.
The week ahead is dotted with some lovely events, including attendance at a concert and a play. Plus, we are taking our grandson to a football game at St Olaf College, our alma mater. (No ulterior motives, of course.) As always, I treasure the weekly time with the church writing group I facilitate and also the scheduled appointments with spiritual direction clients.
The TO DO list for the week is manageable, but I don’t feel like doing any of the tasks. I did throw a load of laundry in the washer, however, so that’s something.
I am not depressed, but I am also not motivated.
I am not focused, but I don’t feel scattered.
I am not bored, but I am not engaged.
I am not discontented, but also not content.

I have always loved this time of the year not just for the beauty of the falling leaves and the crispness of the days, but also as a reminder that cave time is coming. A time that has always felt more spacious and more reflective than the expected busy activity of spring and summer. This year, however, I seem to be approaching the coming months with some anxious wonder. What losses will there be in the coming months? What unknown changes, uncontrollable changes? How will I be confronted with my own aging process?
I am not scared, but I am not in denial.
I am not hungry, but I am yearning.
I am not lost, but I am wandering.
I am not complacent, but I am accepting, and I am willing to accept what I am experiencing and feeling today.
Today more leaves will fall. In fact, as we drove home from church on Sunday we noticed that the ginkgo trees have shed their leaves. They let go all at once.

In Praying Our Goodbyes, Joyce Rupp reminds me:
It is a season to hold the trees close, to stand with them in our grieving. It is time to open my inner being to the misty truths of my own goodbyes. Autumn comes. It always does. Goodbye comes. It always does. The trees struggle with this truth today and in my deepest being, so do I.
So what am I going to do about this mood I am in? Not much. I am not going to judge myself, berate myself or try to fake a different mood. Instead, I intend to honor this present mood with respect, knowing eventually it will lift. It will lead me out of this corner into a new place.
After all, a new day and a new mood comes. It always does.
An Invitation
What is your Autumn mood? I would love to know.

