I was driving down I-94 today and caught myself trying to see if I could actually see the leaves change colors right at the moment that they change. I wanted to see GREEN to ORANGE — B O O M! But alas, this has plauged scientists for years, this mysterious color change. Having experienced enough Summers becoming Fall, I know what to expect. I’m no longer surprised when it snows in November. I won’t feel totally hopeless in the dead of Winter, because I know that soon things will turn green again. Then orange, then nothing, then green, etc.
These are the “seasons”. Authors have written about them. VIvaldi composed about them. Pastors have preached about the parallel between the seasons of nature and the seasons of our lives. It doesn’t matter what it’s like now because, good or bad, things are bound to change. This is the rhythm we find oursevles in.
I was realizing on this Fall day in Michigan that I’m old enough (28, with the hair of a 49 year old) to know what to expect. This means that although I’m not as impressed as I was back in the day, at least I’m more relaxed. The older one gets, the better they are at knowing what to expect. This is why old people aren’t freaking out when another study reveals that plastic is bad for you or that we’re about to enter into a burlap bag crisis or something. They’ve heard it before. It’s a season. We’ll get thorough it. Maybe old people are the ones that actually have the right (and credibility) to say “we shall get through this” because they have learned this from their experience. Seasons come and go. Life rolls on. It’s all good.