Noviembre, para perdonar

November 2nd,

I wandered around Gran Via and through the prettiest little winding side streets all overcast afternoon long. The sky is the kind of welcomed grey that only feels cozy with a scarf tucked tight and a name-graced grande paper cup. My Scottish plaid wool that was gifted to me 5 years ago by the sweetest old man, a café regular in Niagara on the Lake (who I think would have been overjoyed to know how many boarders it has crossed with me since), is caught with tiny falling oranges and reds, proud markers of a season changed.


I smile at passersby, I let the gloriously crisp autumn air fill my lungs. It is an old familiar feeling, and while these late summer weather days have not been under valued or unappreciated, I hadn’t realized how much I missed this feeling. It has been 4 whole years since I had a real autumn season, having spent the last 3 in tropical climates (again, no complaints).

I used to loathe the fall. I really and truly and deeply hated it growing up. I was a loyal devotee to the sanctioned and sumptuous summer seasons; an absolutely dedicated follower of sunshine. I remember feeling profoundly affected and even offended when those days began to slip away, when cooler air and shorter days seemed to rob us all of the endless ease of late August, ebullient and agreeable as it always was.

The change of these particular seasons always held such strong and consistent connotations: the passing of my birthday for another whole year, the end of holidays and vacations and long weeks of freedom, and most devastatingly, the slow and heart-wrenching wane of summer romances, always equal parts shocking and inevitable. And boy did I get lucky with some good ones (some honest to goodness Notebook-rivaling summer enchantments). We moved away, we lost interest, we became distracted with the disillusion and chicanery of autumn; the insincere and indefinite colder days upon us.

But in all of the years that have passed, in all the different lives I have lived abroad through these months (my Facebook memories on a constant roll of countries I’ve spent October in – Scotland, Netherlands, Australia, Vietnam, Indonesia…), I suppose I have unknowingly been working to forgive those decidedly unnerving (and untrusting) feels of early autumn.

And today, it feels good to be in a new month.

Because today, there are new connotations: today marks the accomplishment (and thorough success) of my first full month of teaching in Spain. The conclusion of the first always-ambiguous and unpermissive month in a new life. Today feels more comfortable and natural than any other beginning of November I can remember. Today I accomplished so many things in such a timely manner because of how much easier it is to navigate this now-known city. Today I’m jumping into any Metro station and knowing exactly how to get myself from one errand to the next (sans-metro map!). Today I am organizing a route that makes sense, an order of events and appointments that keep me flowing through the day without any unknown detours or retracing of steps. Today I successfully sent money home, I booked tickets for me and the girls to explore Salamanca on Sunday, I met a friend for lunch, I registered at a new gym, I interviewed & secured my first private lessons to begin next week.

Today was a fantastic fall day. 
We are off to an excellent start, November. 

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