Autumn is Calling, it’s OK to Let Go
Lessons from the trees
I walk up a mountain trail, the path blanketed with leaves.
It is the first day of autumn, and nature is letting go, making way, clearing space for a new season.
As I walk, I feel a kinship with these deciduous trees of the forest. I too am in a purging mood - letting go of what’s served its purpose, clearing my branches, so I can move into this next season.
At the moment, there is little rhyme or reason to what I am releasing, rather I am going through rooms and closets and gathering things that no longer feel relevant. Having spent weeks on the road this summer, camping with only the things I needed, I feel a deep need to simplify, declutter and release my leaves - laying bare just what I need to weather this next season. When I do, I always feel calmer, breathe easier and enjoy a sense of relief.
Countless books talk about the value of simplifying our lives - eliminating excess material possessions, decisions or commitments - associating the act with improved mental, physical and social health. The book Essentialism comes top of mind, specifically the idea that we value things we own more than the things we don’t own. As I consider what to donate, recycle or throw away, I imagine, What if I didn’t own this…what would I pay to obtain it?” If the answer is, “I wouldn’t buy it,” it can go. I no longer need it to adorn my branches.
Applying this wisdom, I come to my first-ever laptop. Here is an item I would no longer pay to obtain, yet I have moved it back and forth across the country, never bothering to determine how best to dispose of it. I finally consulted Google and found a recycling center near me. With its long-outdated ports and floppy disk drive, I had fun watching the faces of the Best Buy associates look at it with incredulity - a relic from an age before their birth.
I continue to fill boxes and can see that my kids are a bit uncomfortable. They don’t seem to have the same peace that comes from parting with things. My older son sorts through a stack of books I have set aside for a local elementary school.
“But Mom,” he says, “this series was a gift from Grammie.”
I feel their attachment. It’s tough to give something away that was thoughtfully given to you, and yet I want to make room for new books and memories.
“Did you enjoy reading these books?” I ask.
“I loved them.”
“Would you read them again?”
“Probably not.”
“What would you rather - that they continuing resting unopened on your shelf or that they have a new home where lots of other kids get to read and enjoy them?”
“I get it.”
“I know it’s hard, Buddy.”
Letting go of things can be difficult. I let him know that I too can feel that pang and attempt to share my perspective - the memory doesn’t have to be wrapped up in the thing itself. Sure, looking at the books again may conjure recollection and evoke nostalgia, but that experience is part of us for the long haul, with or without the material possession. In fact, when we have too many things, we can often forget and neglect what we have.
While I share my point of view with him, I recognize that it’s my truth. We all have different thresholds and feelings about what we hold on to and what we let go of. I am not particularly attached to things and feel that I can readily let them go, but my husband has a harder time. For him, holding on to memorabilia feels meaningful, and he doesn’t part with certain items as easily.
Teaching my kids how to simplify feels delicate. They are at a totally different life stage, and what is sacred to them may not be sacred to me. Their threshold for what to hold on to and what to part with as well as their tolerance of what feels like clutter is different than mine. I can plant seeds and teach them about the value of balancing collecting with the freedom of letting go.
Thinking about this difference, I remember a particular incident with a pill pen. A few years ago, I returned from a work conference and shared a few items of swag with my kids. My youngest took a particular interest in a telescoping pen shaped like a pill capsule. Eventually the novelty wore off, it was left out too long, and I eventually threw it away.
Then a year later, out of the blue:
“Mom, do you know where that pill pen went?”
It took me a minute to recall the pill pen, then I remembered its fate.
“Yes, I don’t think we have it anymore.” I wasn’t ready to ‘fess up quite yet.
“Where did it go?”
I knew the truth may disappoint him. I plunged ahead anyway.
“I didn’t think you were using it, and I threw it away. I am sorry.”
“I loved that pen,” he mustered through a quivering lip.
And there I had it, what didn’t mean much to me was special to him.
As I go through this round of purging, I see that I must seek balance between my own need to simplify, de-clutter and reduce my life to what is essential with what feels that way for my family. I can readily go through my things and exercise a bit more caution when going through theirs. Along the way, I can share my thoughts about why I let go and encourage my kids to do the same.
With fall upon us, I feel inspired by nature’s seasonal change the cues offered to consider changes of our own - letting go, starting fresh, exploring and nesting. I like to think we are a bit like the forest. Some of us, deciduous-folk, readily prepare for an annual shedding, while the conifers in our midst tend to hold on, shed little.
We get to learn from the wisdom of both.