Today is 11/11.
My favorite number, twice.
I was born in November, so I feel a specific kinship, a pride. I’m a product of this season. It suits me in a way summer never could. Do you feel that about March?
The melancholy feels honest. The days are getting shorter, colder. As I write, I’m wearing a wool turtleneck sweater, my favorite cotton long sleeve underneath (always keep softness against your skin), the sun has already set. This layered darkness feels quiet. This whole month carries a nourishing weight.
The leaves have transformed from summer green to the moody rusts of late fall. They’re dropping, slowly. Piling up on the sidewalks, sticking to my boots, which I brought down from the top shelf of my closet last week. Soon the trees will stand bare, brave and braced for winter. But not yet. Now, they’re still turning at their own pace, unrushed. It feels like a reminder.
People often say the earthy colors of fall are a sign of death and decay. But that's just one way of seeing it.
When days get cooler and darker, the trees start to break down cholorophyl. The greens fade, but the colors that have been there all along emerge. Brown and brittle and honest. More themselves.
Death? Or the slow reveal of life and truth?
You’re changing so fast right now. Every time I see you I can’t keep myself from saying that annoying thing that adults say when they haven’t seen a kid in a while: “you’ve grown so much!” But I keep saying that because its true! Even when its only been a few days since I’ve seen you, your features, your smile, the words you use, the jokes you make. It’s all so different every time. I wish I could adequately explain how fun it is to watch you grow.
Change—it’s human. Our bodies, our hair, our nails. And also: our opinions, our passions, our perspectives. Try to recognize those inside shifts as much as the outside ones. You won’t always know what it is, or why it's happening, or where the change will land you, but if you stay mindful, you can feel it coming (like with your period!). Give yourself space for it—let the parts rearrange and resettle. Quiet other things so you can pay attention. Above all: notice and learn.
Build relationships that nurture change. From those close to you, expect that your changes will be embraced. And then hold yourself accountable for allowing the ones you love to change, too. Give it time.
You are always becoming more you.
I love you, little big one.