nathalie shushan

The first chill of fall is an invitation to acclimate to change. Life quiets down as people settle back into their routines. The reverence New Yorkers have for sunshine gets tucked away in the back of their closets beside their denim shorts and swimsuits. Autumn sets trees on fire, coloring leaves before they crinkle and brown baring branches like clawed fingers. We give up the balance that summer offered in favor of work days that long outlast the sun every evening. Worthiness becomes so mistakenly tied up in output that we have to remind ourselves to be present amidst such impermanent beauty. 

The start of autumn gives us strength and energy that allows us to move into the next season with a bit of ease. Its newness is stimulating.  Cool mornings still give way to warm afternoons – it’s like dipping your toes into a pool and allowing your body to adjust to the temperature before diving in. This period of my life is similarly transitional. In between jobs, homes, cities and travels, I am planted, unsteadily, at a crossroad of my life while the seasons change the world around us. 

People kept telling me that I was brave when I left, which didn’t resonate at all. It is hardly an act of courage when leaving feels like the only option (and also a little bit like running away). I was on a track headed somewhere fast and I tipped the train, set it on fire, to get off.  At the time, healing was urgent. Covid anxiety, an overload of work stress, demanding family conditions, and a history of dissociation and compartmentalization put me in survival mode. My sympathetic nervous system was on constant alert and even the smallest stimuli would trigger a freeze response. I needed distance from my life. Leaving wasn’t cowardly, of course, but courage felt far off. 

What I didn’t anticipate was that returning (without a real plan, without a home, without a job) would be the ultimate act of courage. I’ve been back for one month now, which has proven to be a long and challenging transition for reasons I didn’t anticipate. What I expected to be a grand reintegration into my life has turned out to be an excavation from the rubble of the life I left behind, a reminder that I am changed by my experiences. There’s no going back but, in order to move forward, I have to build myself new tracks. It has called my self-confidence into question, made me wonder whether or not I’m really capable at all.

I was so sure of my purpose while I was out in the world. On a mission to write a book, I knew exactly where to direct my energy. I would settle in, day after day,  giving voice to the depths of my being. Upon my return, thrust back into capitalist New York City, that sense of purpose feels muddy. Being around my parents makes me wonder if it’s a selfish dream and being around the hustlers of this city makes me question if it’s entirely untethered from reality, especially when literally everything about my life is in limbo. And, although it’s exciting, it is the most daunting experience. Where does one begin when they have to create change in every aspect of their life? 

Here’s what I think: you break it down into baby steps. You set goals. You commit to writing for one hour a day, even if you feel like your dream is frivolous instead of imminent like it felt before. You anatomize what you want out of your work, you call it in and you sit down to apply for jobs in industries you’ve only ever admired from afar. You learn that the power of your mind can only be reinforced by the power of your action, and then you find motivation and peace in that knowing. 

Everything, by the very nature of the experience, feels temporary.  Your life might be packed away in boxes or your income uncertain. It makes it hard to feel grounded. Still, you can take this time to create building blocks and lay the foundation for the life you want to live, to become the person you want to be. You have a chance to think about the things that make life meaningful and then put them into action! and then build a life around those actions. It’s truly a magnificent place to be.

Like the brief moment when autumn colors the leaves before they float to the ground, transitions are fleeting. They are stepping stones in between two distinct phases of life but that doesn’t mean that they are pauses. Time still moves forward. It’s easy to allow it to pass by without giving yourself the opportunity to savor it. Instead, if you find yourself in transition, give yourself permission for slowness. Be intentional about your direction but also make sure not to rip yourself out of the present moment. Don’t wish this time away. Allow the rest of the world to rush around you but take your time in transformation. Listen to your intuition and allow it to direct you. Dive deep. Give yourself a voice. Build your confidence and know your worth. Understand that you were always meant to be in this moment so allow yourself to fully be in it. 

Since my return, there have been instances when I’ve had to remind myself that I’m really here, I am back, that what I am experiencing is reality. Whether it’s a cool breeze or an affectionate glance or catching the reflection of the sun on cobblestoned streets, these are moments that bring me back into the present with force. I am reminded that this is time that should not be experienced casually. I want to feel the fullness of it, the freedom of it while it lasts, to confront the feeling of an expansive unknown future. Transition is moment dripping with opportunity and I am here to drink it in.

In a month, I’ll find myself in the depths of the jungle for a final moment off the grid before I start to put the pieces of my life together. Initially, this time at home was meant to be quick, a short break to spend time with family for the holidays before continuing to travel through South America. Instead, as I’ve taken these opportunities for reflection, I realize that I’ve never felt so compelled to lay down roots, to bury them deep into the earth. As F Scott Fitzgerald said, “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” So here’s to new beginnings and, just as importantly, all of the precious moments that lead up to them.