We are in the final, concluding phase of autumn. In these days, shattered parts of me—mottled and half-dying like a leaf where different colours meet—compete for my limited attention. My body longs for the rest and silence that winter will bring, but I must look at my chaos first.
The process of autumn, letting go and returning to what matters in my life, can only happen if I rid myself of the frills and frayed edges. I have woven a web during the great experiment of spring and summer, connecting myself to all kinds of experiments to discover what suits me and which new identities I want to assume. But not everything lasts.
In autumn I clean house by ridding myself of my web, so that I do not remain hanging there helplessly, encapsulated by the chaos of unnecessary things demanding my attention. Nothing is as frustrating as having too much to do in winter without having the energy for it. With the rapidly darkening days, energy becomes a precious commodity again. Nature is finalising and preparing for the great silence by only keeping what it needs to survive the winter.
Late autumn suits me, possibly it is even my favourite time of year. I have always felt attracted to minimalism and enjoy the beauty in simplicity, perhaps because I feel a bit safer with a little order in a desperately chaotic world. I dance between the playful child who wants to discover everything and the old monk who wants a simple life. In autumn, the child yields to the monk.
Our dedication to emptiness
The flow of the seasons provides a structure in which we can rest. This means now I am making all sorts of lists about everything I want to wrap up, I fantasise about everything I want to let go of, and I look forward to the creative projects I want to pick up in the timeless sea of space that winter can bring.
The danger at this time of year is not focusing on what matters and wasting the year’s last powerful impulse on peripheral matters or distractions. What matters most is almost never the easiest to pick up. It requires our attention and dedication, which we now need to summon.
To create space for fertile emptiness, we free ourselves from the web of expectations we have imposed on ourselves. And in doing so, we cultivate the courage to face difficult things that the soul demands of us, the things for which we can always find an excuse in the hustle of daily life.
Warm wishes, Sacha
Published on by Sacha Post. This essay is part of the weekly letters. Explore more essays on autumn in the archives.