Transitions

I just did something in mid-afternoon that I haven't done in quite a while: close a window because the breeze was chilly. I've also noticed the apples hanging from the tree next to my garage are darkening from Grannie Smith green to a closer approximation of dark Delicious red. They're a variant of ancient apple and the crop isn't quite as impressive as last year's, but the signs are unmistakable. There is an equinox in the offing.

We've probably got plenty of warm days ahead, but mid-August in these northern latitudes isn't too early to start thinking about autumn. The brewers, I notice, have started releasing Halloween ales and my local grocer has put all of his summer items on clearance. Late season wild flowers -- asters and goldenrod -- are blooming, the latter to the chagrin of my hay fever. The only chain saw I've heard lately is mine, but I'm sure it will be joined by a chorus fairly soon as my neighbors start thinking about cool nights and warm fireplaces.

I like the change of seasons and especially the time leading up to it and then immediately following. I enjoy transitions -- maybe that's what drew me to psychotherapy. Because, for the most part, those who want or need therapy are immersed in moving from one phase to another or trying to manage changes that feel out of control. In a lot of ways it's like helping summer find its way into fall or winter into spring, and seeing how someone turns out on the other side.

Many times I've been surprised; the person who began is very different from the one who finishes. In some cases, it's almost as though I scarcely know them since all that has been scraped away interfered with the person beneath the distress and pain. Seeing them afterward, it's almost hard to believe they were ever someone else, but they were and now winter or a miserably hot summer has come and gone. And up here, we're glad to see them go because there's always something good waiting just up the road.


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