There’s a rare and fleeting time of the day when the sky is streaks of peachy pink and powder blue. I saw it today, and it occurred to me that there are moments when I feel exactly like that, with no other way to describe it. There are also months which feel like that, and September is one of them.
September to me is a pretty girl’s name written in dull gold ink. September is how I know the difference between something that gives and something that takes away. August always takes away, but September is generous to me.
After days and days of dark places, I slowed down at an in-between. I started thinking about the kind of person I really wanted to be and the kind of people I really wanted to be around. It put things into perspective, sometimes painfully so.
I found myself crawling forward with this stubborn, aching hope that I had somewhere to go. This, after weeks of feeling like maybe life was directionless and I could belong on the ground in the middle of nowhere just as perfectly as the peak of a mountaintop somewhere. I felt like maybe I could conquer a hill and be okay with it.
But we were talking about September.
While I was looking at the pale clouds and thinking about touches that give and touches that take away, something whispered to me that I was, for once in my life, looking at collections of vapor and seeing miracles and feelings. I wasn’t quite sure what that meant for me, but I felt very very deeply that I was at least looking in the direction of the kind of person I wanted to be. The kind of person I actually am somewhere underneath my rust.
I felt, for the first time in a long time, how very very capable of love I was.
If that ends up being the only thing September gives me, I’d still feel like it was more than I’ve had in forever and I’m thankful.