perception of control
baking, seasons & hope
I’ve been feeling a little sad lately.
Life has been a little harder than I thought it’d be this year. I have been stretched beyond my comfort, and have grown in ways I never thought I could. But the growing and stretching haven’t taken away from the heavy sadness of feeling not in control. In the sadness, loss and realisation of this year I have gained so much in my relationships with others, in my feverant need to be left in awe of nature, people, this world. Where I thought there was lack, there was so much gain, and where I thought I could not be held, I have been carried and loved beyond capacities that my mind still cannot fathom.
I feel like I’ve been juggling joy, grief and love like eggs being baked into my life’s recipe: there goes a tablespoon of cold weather into the bowl, a teaspoon of of rain, one and a quarter cups of the arts and three packed cups of worry and doubt. The gag is, the recipe can be changed and even if doesn’t change, something beautiful is still formed and this is frustrating for me. My hope and faith frustrate me. My belief that better things are coming, it frustrates me.
In the UK this year, we had an unusual abundance of rain this summer, despite being a rainy place, it was not normal for us and autumn arriving and making itself in, the changing of the seasons meant there was more to come in my fear of the unknown. In tandem with unexpected rainfall, September & October hit and left an almost apocalyptic heat residing for longer than expected this year, leaving us with above 25 degree weather at the start of autumn. But soon come, by literally days, heat was replaced with gusts of wind and falling leaves - and I knew, nature reminded me to not be silly, that no matter how odd the timings of the seasons are, no matter how much we are sadly damaging this world, the seasons will still correct themselves; things will still fall into place and catch up to where they’re meant to be. Even if it takes a little longer than expected, things will fall into place.
I know that my frustration for my optimism in holding hope and having faith don’t make much sense - it’s a good thing to have hope. It’s what pulls us together in knowing that where we are isn’t forever. Whilst faith propels us forward and aligns our inner being and knowing with hope, bringing joy into the fold and tying in a sloppy bow on our neatly wrapped cookies to give us: faith, the most unflattering of emotions and certainty when life feels messy.
I’ve been struggling to get out of bed this past week, or even at all. I sit scrolling through feeds, bouncing between apps, feeling my mood slipping the longer I stay there. The mundane seems a bit harder, and come Thursday morning I unwillingly managed to pull myself out of this cocoon. I hopped in my car and dragged myself to a grocery and clothes store to do some returns and now investigate some new dairy-free milks. I’ve been growing bored of autumn (a gross exaggeration, I still very much love autumn) and have been reminded of why winter forever has my heart, the colder months bring me back to a place of knowing and hope. Whilst driving, I kept getting distracted by the leaves in the streets. They were stunning, and normally this time of year, we don’t have the privilege of autumn lasting so long, as most leaves have fallen off the trees by the end of October. However, the slowness of autumn unwinding itself this year has allowed for this period of nestling into winter, hibernating, to dwell a little longer. The trees have been showing off, reds and yellows and oranges, specks of green amidst browns and I’m forever in awe of what nature teaches me when I cannot see the forest for the trees.
I was worried that well into October it was still 17-25 degrees, that we would kiss autumn and skip straight to winter without seeing the beauty of nature intentionally slowing down. The leaves wouldn’t get to show of their joy in letting go and we would forcibly have to hanker into the colder, more bitter months without getting to actually bridge the gap between the light of summer and the dark of winter. I was worried about things not working out for me, life not going to plan and me potentially forever being in a deep winter, where the light didn’t shine through as often as it could, where it was either too hot or too cold and there was no middle ground for joy, no slow progress that I could physically see - a place that I’ve been in a rush to no longer be in, to pack my things and leave to the farthest place possible, except there has been nowhere to go to.
But autumn has come. It’s arrived. It’s taking its time to let us appreciate its beauty, to appreciate the mess and ease of letting go even when it’s the last thing we want to do. Even when it doesn’t feel comfortable. In letting go, in having faith and hope held close to my chest, close to my face that our breaths have intertwined to become one amidst the pain, confusion and sadness,
peace has added itself to the bowl, four cups, without explanation, settling itself amongst us.