I always thought that growing up would eliminate the feeling that when summer ends in the fire of change, so does life.
As a young teen, something about peering into the school supply section at Target in mid-July really grated on me. Who on God’s green earth was preparing for fall in mid-July? And don’t even get Aquinnah of the Past started on the injustices of school uniform shopping. That is a very deep, very dark hole.
But all of it was temporary. I was destined to outgrow khaki skirts and smelly backpacks and busywork. Oh, the boundless glory of burning my short story analysis sheets as kindling for my math binders.
Adulthood could not come soon enough.
Adults never worked on projects they hated.
Adults didn’t feel self-conscious about their appearances.
Because, most importantly, adults were free.
Fast forward through middle school and high school, all the way to Praxis. Make it August of 2017. Make it nervous and unruly and loud.
Who knew adulthood would be so loud? All the thoughts in your head going a mile a minute, usually in circles. Was this the independence I’d been anxiously awaiting? Was this freedom?
There were still parts of my day that I hated, namely the parts where I wasn’t working on my manuscript because—GASP—I suddenly needed money!? Also, where was my magical boost of self-confidence and charm?!
This was adulthood?
Gross. Take it back.
Eventually, I sank into a routine. And I do mean sank. It’s not like I was dying to get up and answer emails and learn the basics of SEO and skip lunch for the fourth day in a row. But, like, paycheck.
And isn’t this how it goes? The grass is greener and all that?
Once I’m an adult, I’ll feel alive.
If I were a child, I’d have no responsibilities.
I was supposed to feel this way. I was doomed to feel this way. Probably forever.
But, in retrospect, I was still clinging to a solitary hope. Because I would become a freelancer in the fall, I would not dread the end of summer. I would finally be able to embrace seasons of change.
I would finally be free.
Even now, I remember that summer.
I remember the way the AC blasted just overhead in my freezing basement room.
I remember drafting SEO pieces until my wrists seized up and the monotony of the job actually brought me to tears.
I remember napping in the middle of the afternoon to escape what I could only label as “real life.”
And, clearest of all, I remember thinking that I would figure out what freedom felt like if it killed me.
I dreaded the hell out of autumn.
Aquinnah Bree, Freelance Proofreader, Editor, and Writer, officially launched that October when I landed my first real client through a connection at Praxis.
I was ecstatic. This was on par with graduating from high school and “leaving the busywork behind.” This was a good change. This was freedom.
Except it wasn’t. Not the kind for which I was searching.
And I knew that.
I’d been on the edge of this particular cliff enough times to recognize that I hadn’t suddenly grown wings. I’d just pasted them on. And they looked pretty, and my ego was satisfied, and I could definitely keep this up until the wings ripped off and I was forced to respawn back on the edge of the
same
damn
cliff.
Holy—
I saw an interesting thread a few weeks ago. I can’t remember where.
Basically, it said: If your school vacation was scheduled during the winter, you would love winter the way you love summer. Your freedom is conditioned. You have been trained to believe that your freedom belongs to the seasons, rather than to you.
Ouch.
And a few years ago, I would’ve screamed, “FALSE! That can’t be true! Everything is better in summer! I CAN PROVE IT.”
But I know now what I wish I knew then. What I hope to impart to you today. Whatever ravine you may be assessing.
Your freedom is never dictated by what is going on outside of you.
It’s not dictated by the seasons,
or your schedule,
or your appearance.
Your freedom is dictated by how open your heart is,
how open your mind is,
how vocal you allow your soul to be in this lifetime.
Your freedom is dictated by YOU.
I was never going to “outgrow” my hatred of fall. The same goes for my creative stagnation and my paralyzing fear of change. I didn’t just… wake up without them.
I chose to let them go.
I had to.
If I was going to appreciate the changing leaves,
the scent of baking apples,
the pumpkin spice memes.
If I was going to finish my manuscript,
take on new clients,
be happy.
If I was going to discover a pair of wings that wouldn’t leave me high and dry at the first sign of trouble.
I will never forget the first time I woke up and thought, I am so, so happy to be alive.
I do it every day now.
Seasons change. It’s inevitable.
But your power is forever. Your wings already exist.
Jump. Call out to them.
Allow the seasons to move with you and through you and around you.
Be grateful, dear reader.
For you are inherently free.
Photo by Robert V. Ruggiero on Unsplash
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