Image Credit: Edward Hopper

When considering what autumn means to me, I could have very easily written about its  universally-appreciated aesthetic beauty. What flashes in my mind is the blazing orange trees lining the streets, the smooth whorls of a conker peeking from its green shell, the weak yellow sunlight filtering through my window decorated by spiders’ webs. But to write about these things isn’t exactly true to my own experience of autumn, and doesn’t add anything to our own perception of the season. There are already too many poems and songs dedicated to the cosiness of these giddy months before Christmas. Although I don’t disagree with these idyllic descriptions of autumn, there is indeed something else covered up by those sodden brown leaves, now unpicked from their branches up high. 

It’s not that I intend to depict a negative impression of autumn. For the last sixteen years, the September transitionary period when the sun suddenly hides behind the grey clouds has meant a lot to me, marking the return to the regularity of school after a long summer break. In a way, the beginning of autumn means more to me than New Years’ Day, as it has always commenced a new year of learning, of new and lost friendships, of self-discovery. 

I can’t think of September without feeling that same rising trepidation in my chest. I would try on my new school shoes destined to be kicked and battered into the pavement, marvel at how my uniform seemed more dilapidated than it had been six weeks ago, fuss over my newly trimmed hair in the mirror and sigh over its inability to seem at all flattering (I didn’t realise that the trick to this was not having a comb-over until I was seventeen). Deep down, I knew that this feeling of excitement would wear off in under a week. Conversations would evolve around the same mundane topics of what we had next in our timetable, lessons would plunge us into new content then bury us under homework, and it would dawn on me that it would be this way for a little while yet. But I never wished for a return to the summer, or to go back in time to the previous year when the work was less hard.

Autumn meant that I was moving forward, like I was slowly being ejected from one large cannon to be shot out to new potential horizons. Perhaps I had always expected change immediately, ready and wanting new things right now rather than understanding that autumn could only prepare me for the new, but I would have to get there myself. 

Of course, my November birthday allowed me to aggrandise these more aesthetic changes in a transitional season to a deeper, more dramatic scale every autumn. Not in the way that I would celebrate my birthday with particular pomp; it would mostly follow a series of rituals that I would complete to mark my increasing age. For example, I would write a diary entry reflecting on my year and measuring my growth (predictably, this mostly took the form of my academic advancements and maybe the odd failed romantic conquest). This entry would usually be followed by a few pages the next day recounting all the things I had done to celebrate my birthday, wrapped up in breathless excitement. It is no wonder that I am unable to think of autumn now without fondly recalling the constant anticipation of my birthday, always sandwiched between those long, plodding evenings alone at my desk with quiet music playing in the background. This was always imbued with the sense that I was going somewhere with all this work, but always questioning whether this was everything that I wanted. 

When I came to uni, the transitionary autumn period seemed to increase tenfold in meaning. Now alone in my room, without the comfort of my study desk and the knowledge that my mum would be downstairs waiting for me to show my face, I lost the timetabled regularity of the chilly evenings and replaced it with what I thought of as the new horizons I had been wistfully imagining all these years. When I think of autumn last year, I remember running around and being cosied up by the flashing neon lights of every nightclub in York; the potential of new friends was what I needed to drag me away from my desk. Yet this extra hour we are gifted in autumn always affords us more space in an increasingly busier period. Autumn for me had always been marked by solitude, and I had crammed this gap with constant partying and meeting too many people. The impending darkness that had begun to fall in the afternoon would have allowed me more introspection, yet I felt constantly dizzy with the anticipation of the next day and the next, rather than only the days leading up to my birthday. I didn’t even have time to write in my diary anymore. 

I realise that this all sounds a little dire. But in truth, I don’t mind things being slightly more subdued in autumn. The festive season is meant to be a time of showing more grace and kindness to people, and how are we meant to consider others if we do not give ourselves some introspection first? Autumn gives us the space to examine ourselves as we are thrown into all this anticipation for the new. After all the different autumns I’ve experienced, I’ve learned that the most important thing is to strike a nice balance. Whilst I am not exactly using the crowds of vigorously dancing clubbers to keep myself warm this year, the deficit of work I have to do tells me that I am most certainly not chaining myself to my desk every evening. 

Autumn instructs us to make the most of such short-lived daylight, and take these early evenings as an opportunity to make time for ourselves. Perhaps this is by doing something that gives us some sort of joy. I’ve opted for belting out Dusty Springfield whilst taking long, hot showers which I’m sure my housemates love. Or I have long calls with my friends from home and we natter about the trivialities of our now separate lives for hours on end. Sometimes, I like to sit in my room surrounded by my trinkets, books, and music, knowing that I am safe and content at this moment.

So, whilst autumn may not be as fun-loving as summer or as cheery as winter, it always creates a stirring nostalgia as it marks out the most formative feelings I had growing up. As I continue to grow, I always look forward to autumn, when I can look back clearly on how I have come to this point, and anticipate what I’m going to be propelled onto next.