On Autumn

The end of summer is always a quantum shift of sorts.  No other change in season is quite so pronounced or quite so disheartening; in addition to the new chill in the air, autumn ushers in the responsibilities of school for some and the nostalgia for those days in others.  W.B. Yeats conveys this unsettling dichotomy beautifully in his poem "The Wild Swans at Coole."  For Yeats, autumn marked the frenzied flight of swans from a cold pond to some warm unknown shore.  In their clamorous wings he saw both his own desire to flee the coming season and the pain of having to adapt, to leave things behind.  He felt and understood that our desire for escape inevitably coexists with our fear of it.  I have felt a bit nostalgic watching my cousins and some friends return to school, but my increasing awareness of the passage of time, of missed opportunities and regrets, is somehow making me fearless rather than crippling me with fear of continued failure.  I have adapted before and I am ready to adapt again - more ready than ever, in fact, because I am investing in people and activities that affirm rather than challenge and undermine my identity.  I have no doubt that I am embarking on warmer shores than those I laid on so carelessly during the hot months of summer.  Are you?

Old Souls

My grandfather was a simple man.  Born in 1910, he came of age during the Great Depression.  He was thin, quiet and good-natured.  His friends called him "Red" for his reddish-brown hair - hair I never saw because the pictures are black and white and because he had only sparse white hair by the time I came around.  He met a stubborn, creative and whip-smart woman with a Mona Lisa smile - a knowing little smirk - and knew he couldn't live without her.  He wrote her letters, poetic in their straightforwardness, and she decided she didn't want to live without him either.  They married, had four sons and lived modestly but comfortably in New Albany, Indiana.  He was a self-employed contractor and landlord notorious among his clients for his impressive work ethic and among his tenants for his unsolicited generosity.  He and my grandmother smoked because they didn't know better and traveled in their later years because they knew they would not live forever.  When they visited my family, I was content to sit on my grandfather's lap, facing him and exploring his face with chubby fingers.  I found his bifocals and his wrinkles and his smiling lips, and I was delighted to have caused that smile.  I can't remember these things without the aid of home videos, but I feel them at my core.  Sometimes these feelings are the only things that I truly grasp.

Next year my sister and her husband will become parents and my parents, grandparents.  I wish my grandfather could witness these beautiful graduations, could see what an amazing gift he has helped create.  At the risk of sounding selfish, I also wish he was here to help me remember that I am the same girl who made people smile with my insatiable curiosity and quirkiness.  He is the reason I am an old soul, the reason I tend to relate better to my elders than I do to people my own age.  Does anyone else feel this way?  Maybe it is too simplistic to say that one person causes another person to be an old soul; it is more likely the feelings inspired by that person.  Perhaps we old souls feel that our elders will be less judgmental than our peers.  Perhaps - and this may be a long shot - those of us who are highly sensitive feel we have lived longer than our years because we experience things without filters.  There are many theories, all of which are probably partially correct, but one thing about old souls is certain: we understand and appreciate time and its ability to both give and take.

I do not remember how or when my parents told me about my grandfather's death.  I do not even know when I started missing him.  Since his death and that of his wife, I have not lost anyone as close to me, but I am fully aware that it could happen at any time.  It could happen to me; September 11th and April 16th should have taught all of us that.  And yet, despite that knowledge, I will not pretend to assert that I am living life to the fullest.  In fact, my life sometimes feels very empty, and that is my own fault.  I struggle to understand whether this emptiness is caused by actual lack or by my own distorted perception.  It is probably a bit of both.  I know I am not alone in this struggle, but if you can relate at all, I would love to hear from you.  In the meantime, take care of yourselves and each other.  And hug your grandfathers, as greedily as children might.