v. 58 Hot Flashes And Cool Fronts: On perimenopause, meditation, and learning to take the hint
Welcome to Life, Created — a weekly(ish) reflection on the wisdom of being a grown-ass human and staying curious when the world’s on fire. Part essay, part cultural commentary, and always rooted in microjoys, meaning, and the moments that make it all worthwhile.
For years, summer was my favorite season. I loved the long days, the light, the late dinners outside. I still do. But then perimenopause arrived and took with it my patience for heat. I appreciate summer’s energy, just from the shade and preferably with an awkward rechargeable fan wrapped around my neck.
Summer carries a chaotic urgency. It pulls me out of my cocoon and into the world when I should probably be sitting at my desk getting work done. I’m like a squirrel in June, running from one idea to the next, full of momentum but not much direction. Autumn, on the other hand, gives me permission to shut up and sit still. And if you hear that statement in a firm 1980s mom voice, the kind where each word is its own sentence, good. You’re hearing it the right way. (SIT. STILL. Cyndie!)
Fall feels more honest, though. The air shifts, the light changes, and the trees remind us how natural impermanence really is. The season slows me down just enough to remember that constant motion isn’t the only way forward. I wrote about this in Microjoys, in an essay called “Into the Woods,” where I explored how stillness can become its own kind of renewal.
Obviously, no one needs to give me a reason to reflect. That’s basically my job. Still, autumn makes reflection easier. It doesn’t carry the same overthinking energy it has at other times of year. The shorter days pull us inward and bring a quiet that feels like relief. It’s also the time when intuition grows louder and the invisible world feels closer. I feel that deeply.
I’m on day one hundred twenty-two of my daily meditation practice, which still surprises me every time I say it out loud. One hundred twenty-two days in a row. I’m not that committed to anything except my husband. I’ve meditated on and off since my twenties, but this streak feels different. Each day I sit, breathe, and listen. Some days the quiet feels like connection and other days my mind runs laps around the grocery list. Either way, I keep showing up.
Silence has a way of revealing what busyness hides. The more still I become, the more I notice. I dream more vividly. I remember what inspires me. I hear the small nudges of ideas that have been waiting for space. Quiet no longer feels like absence.
I’ve always been high on the woo scale, proudly so. I believe in signs, in spirit, in the small coincidences that remind us we’re being guided even when there is no map. For a long time, I used to soften that part of myself to seem more reasonable, more grounded, more whatever made other people comfortable. I don’t do that anymore. This season connects me to that part of myself in a way that feels steady and clear. The more I listen, the more I trust what I hear. (I did not mean to rhyme there, but…)
This time of year feels like a sacred pause, a moment between chapters. I know that not everyone loves the in-between, but I do. It is uncertain and uncomfortable, yes, but it is also where clarity begins to take shape.
Autumn feels like home now. The beauty is quieter, the pace slower, the pull inward stronger. I no longer need the push of summer to feel alive. These days, I find energy in staying still, in listening, and in letting things unfold as they should. I’ve learned to trust the rhythm of things because inspiration doesn’t need chasing. It always finds me when I’m still enough to notice.
Every essay features a section called “One Fine Microjoy” – an experience, place, or thing that brings me joy, grace, and hope amidst life’s ups and downs. I hope it invites you to recognize and appreciate the delights that ground, inspire, and enrich our journey.
This week’s microjoy: The trees are showing off again. Every walk feels like nature decided to turn the saturation all the way up. I know not everyone lives somewhere that gets a full East Coast fall, but trust me, it’s a whole production. And even though it only lasts a few weeks, it’s one of those small things that makes me stop mid-walk and say, okay fine, this part of adulthood isn’t so bad.
This week’s microjoy is watching the leaves do their dramatic annual exit and remembering that change can actually look pretty good.
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With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
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