returning to the work I love as the leaves fall down

After six months of stepping away from teaching, from learning, from holding space for others, I am returning. Gently. Slowly. In rhythm with the turning season.

As the Fall Equinox arrives, I find myself reflecting on its quiet wisdom. This is the moment when light and dark are equal. A brief pause in the tilt of the earth, a sacred balance point between expansion and contraction, between doing and being. Nature reminds us there is power in stillness, and wisdom in transition.

Over these past months, I’ve let things soften. I’ve stepped away from the constant outward motion to tend to my inner world. I’ve let myself rest. Breathe. Ask new questions.

How do I feel?
What do I want?
What truly brings me pleasure?

I’ve been listening for answers not from the mind alone, but from the body. From the heart. From the deeper, quieter self that does not shout, but whispers.

When I first stepped away from this work to support my mama as she navigated her cancer diagnosis, I worried that the break would somehow result in my not returning to the work. I had no evidence for this other than the unhelpful thoughts in my brain. Nonetheless, my core values made it clear that being with my mom was the most important thing to me.

In these past months I had space to tune into my own rhythms, to notice the very simple things that bring me pleasure: doing art under the plum tree with my granddaughter, a warm mug of tea in my hands in the evenings, sunlight on my face as I do my breathwork walking my dog, getting to know some new friends in a deeper way here on the island.

Mary Oliver’s words have been a quiet anchor during this time:

“You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

Her words have become my compass for now and also an inquiry: What is it that the soft animal of my body loves?

My new Yoga Teacher Training course has assigned us homework to list 100 items that answer that question. A daunting task, yet so very important that I am aware of this for myself and not absorbing what culture “tells” me (or sells me) ought to fill my tank.

As I open up one-to-one sessions again and step back into teaching and learning, I know that, like the season we are moving toward, there must be a balance. Before I can hold space for others in these ways and take on some more learning, my own tank must be full.

The Fall Equinox offers a perfect metaphor. A balance point. A moment to pause and harvest the gifts and insights this six-month break provided.

Autumn also offers the reminder to ask what is coming to a close within ourselves. What needs to be let go or to “fall away” to make space for whatever it is that needs to come? Witnessing the trees letting go of their leaves to conserve their energy for winter is a valuable lesson.

“Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go…” — Unknown

We can pause to notice and celebrate what we are harvesting from the previous season, and then release all that needs to go. A time of contemplation, of reflection, of drawing inward, of listening… Nature reminds us of how we, too, can connect and align with her wisdom and reap our inner harvest.

We watch the natural world slowing down, cooling down, and wisely take our cues from her. Slowing. Calming. Considering. Perhaps even a little bit of cocooning.

Autumn asks us to consider if we are still aligned with the truth of who we are. Are there any old habits, tasks, or unnecessary routines that we could allow to fall away and “leave” behind?

The more we can flow with the natural cycles of the season, the better our wellness and energy. The more connection we experience.

I am in the process of both letting go and harvesting in the following ways:

• A slower pace that allows room for clarity, especially when I am with my mom. We love love love a slooooowww day!

• An intentional investigation into what small, everyday joys truly bring me pleasure and fill my tank so that when the unexpected (and unavoidable) setbacks arrive or the heartbreaking stories of the world come crashing in, I can meet them, hold them, and know what action (or non-action) I want or need to take.

• A reminder that rest and pleasure must come FIRST. These are not “nice to have when I have time,” but instead they are the essential ingredients for my life. They are life.

This return is not a restart. It’s a remembering and a reweaving. A reconnection to what I love: teaching, learning, holding space, and making sure that as I do these things, my own tank is FULL FULL FULL.

Letting the soft animal of my body love what it loves…