ThereWasAutumn

I was going home to the place that completed me. My mind had thought Arizona was ideal; my soul knew better.

I'm now in what I call the autumn of my life. Like living in the right place, I feel I belong here. Yet I'm surprised at what I've found.

I expected to long for the spring of my youth. I expected to soar on the wild success and perfect womanliness of my summer. I expected to fear autumn, because it leads to winter. For two weeks, when I crossed into autumn at age fifty ---a line my mind invented and convinced me of-- I went through the regrets. Where are my bestselling novels? Where are my legions of friends? Where are my phenomenal bank accounts?

Yet, there's an unpredicted contentment in some radical changes, opposites of what I expected to find here. For example, I embrace all kinds of people more openly, but have no room for negative people, even when they've always been that way.

It stems from another paradox. I dislike shoulds and gottas. Yet I enter this season with a new phrase: "I'm fifty years old. I should be able to..."

Instead of imprisoning, like empty rules, this should is liberating. It frees me from the need to be around people who are habits more than friends. It frees me from stale attitudes. It opens my eyes every time I start a sentence that way. Initially, I found myself fearing this new "I should" phase. Now, I smile when one strikes me, because each time, I discover what I really believe.

I'm fifty. I should be financially stable. Yet my idea of abundance has radically changed, by simple gratitude. I have more food in my pantry than some people have in a month. I'm all right.

I'm fifty years old. I should be wise, a virtual sage! Yet my idea of wisdom has grown so dramatically, I'd be a fool to ever consider myself wise.

At fifty, I should be able to state my opinion without fear of backlash. Yet I find my own opinions incredibly dull and others' far more thought-provoking.

I'm fifty! I should be able to go where I want without getting permission! Yet I find myself cherishing the closeness of always keeping each other posted.

I'm fifty. I should know where I'm headed with purpose and conviction. Yet, I find myself on a path that's lighted only two steps ahead, because that's all I need when God is the light. I find this path both exciting and peaceful, a strengthening paradox.

I'm fifty. I should have the solid, undying commitment of my devoted spouse. Yet, I'm no longer jealous when another woman flirts with my husband. It's beautiful to transcend the possessiveness of relationship. If he left me, I wouldn't be angry or jealous. I'd be devastated. But he won't, because what woman could compete with this? She might be pretty. She might be funny. But in the autumn of our lives, we've reached a place I pretended to have in summer. It's a place where we both answer to God first. Initially, when God led us down the same path, we were surprised and awed ---maybe a little afraid. Now, it's normal.

Perhaps that's why I can also close the door on friendships that no longer work. I'm not strong enough to be around negative people. I'm not like Jesus, who could eat among all the wrong people with all the wrong attitudes. Even Paul advised us to stay away from Christians who indulge in sin and cause divisions. Jesus surrounded himself most closely with those at least trying to follow God. He didn't require perfection ---and neither do I. But I do have a driving need to stay on his path. I can't be around people who pull me off, even when the sentence starts with, "I'm fifty, and I should have more control over my reactions."

So this is autumn. It's invigorating to watch trees change to fiery reds and luminescent oranges, sharing their colors with the world simply by being. Too, there's peaceful acceptance in watching the leaves fall, knowing they'll leave a scent that makes passersby turn their heads.

Like the drive from Arizona to Ohio, there were moments when I regretted what I'd missed moving from summer to fall. Yet, like the arrival back home, I know this is where I belong now. And even when winter comes, I know there will be laughs, giggles and awe at the beauty sprinkled among the hard days and nights.

Perhaps the best part is that I'm no longer afraid. I expect to start sentences with "Well, kids, by the time you reach eighty..." And already, I wonder where that will lead.