Trust the season you’re in

🎶 Keala Settle, “This is me.” From The Greatest Showman

I’m having an emotional day.

It happens more often, and usually without any real reason.

It’s simply part of my nature — a being whose strings don’t need much to start trembling.

I’m grateful to be free from the idea that I’m too sensitive.

It’s who I am.

Feelings aren’t bad — sometimes intense, yes, but always faithful companions on this journey through life.

They keep telling us little truths about ourselves.

Today, during yoga, I realized that my life’s journey is slowly entering autumn.

Not that I didn’t know that already, but hearing it said out loud still did something to me.

Our wonderful yogateacher described the autumn of life as a season of softening toward ourselves, of letting go, of the wisdom gathered from our earlier spring and summer… and it resonated deeply.

What she said touched my sensitive string — the one that was already trembling.

Because sometimes I struggle with trust.

I’ve let myself down more than once, or ignored my intuition.

In my spring and summer I sometimes lost my course — or even my north.

And anyone who has fallen knows the ground.

And knows it’s not the nicest place to stay.

So yes, fear can still paralyze me at times, even though I know that on the other side of that fear, strength is waiting.

But… in those emotional moments, I often feel a kind of serenity and surrender as well.

Strange as it may sound.

Sometimes, in a little river of tears, I can feel an almost fierce happiness too.

Maybe that has to do with standing at the threshold of autumn…

Because then you carry with you the richness of a life in which you have seen, felt and lived enough to know that emotions aren’t malfunctions, but compass needles.

Sometimes sharp, sometimes tender, sometimes confusing — but always meaningful.

And what autumn also teaches me: I don’t have to be just one version of myself.

I no longer have to choose.

Not between sadness and joy.

Not between doubt and trust.

Not between losing my way and knowing it.

I get to honour all those variations within me. At the same time.

Without needing everything fixed or answered.

And to rest in the fact that my sensitive strings tremble — precisely because they are so finely tuned.

And… not unimportant 😌: there will always be a bit of curious spring and warm, vibrant summer in me — even when winter eventually comes knocking.

Maybe that’s also the wisdom of autumn:

not finding the answers, but learning to live with the questions.