Sometimes, it is nice just to sit and listen to the wind rustle the leaves. The cooling temperatures linger in the air like a prelude to the winter ahead. I never thought I would find myself here, and I cannot help but smile through tired eyes. How many times have I missed the movement of life around me because of the movement around me? The enigmatic distractions surround us, poisoning the purity of the simple beauties of life. I admire the leaves in the fall. Of course, their color change inherently captures my attention as a reminder to stop and ‘smell the flowers,’ in a similar way a set of olive-green eyes might remind me to sleep, remind me that I have to eat three times a day, to try not to clench my teeth, and that, really, it will all be ok. In the end, there is an undeniable elegance to the falling of the leaves; a gentle but self-assured poise to each and every leaf that, when the time is right, plucks itself from its roots, and bravely sets sail on its solitary, yet sui generis voyage. The time must come for all leaves to embark on their journey, and though the trek may route through a previously undiscovered, and albeit, arduous, path, just as one cannot stop the leaves from changing colors, this too, embraces its own inevitability. How valiant, to stare down the fear of falling, to trust the make of their ship, to sail alone. Their destination is clear, their conviction clearer. The winds may blow, swaying their ship, aggressively rocking the foundation in an unrelenting manner. But, clever as the leaves are, flow with each windy blow, like water around a stone, never deterred from their ultimate goal, but ebbing gently with each test from the wind. No matter how hard the winds may blow, how laborious each challenge may appear, or how many bruises each leaf must endure, just as one cannot stop the leaves from changing colors, this too, embraces its own inevitability. As the leaves quietly, yet confidently, make their way to the ground, leaving behind the branch which had been their home for so long, so too must we all embark on our own journey. Which then begs the question, what is the ground? What is the ultimate destination? Worry not, the end is neigh. Rather, memento mori, only in as far as it gives purpose to life. For what is light without darkness, peace without war, and love without hate.
Perhaps I, too, can learn to be more like the leaves. The fears seem insurmountable, of being left behind on the tree, of falling, of never having the grit to jump when my time comes, of oblivion, cascaded by volume of inexplicable worries that flood every available space in my mind. I am sure the leaves feel similar. How beautiful that expedition must be, though, I think to myself; to experience those tests of life. The wind, with its capricious and fickle self, brings the blowing challenges that provoke us to breathe deeply and suck the marrow of life with each deliberate adventure. We are all meant to thrive so Spartan-like yet gentle, as the leaves do, staring deep into the eyes of falling, knowing we were made to live the life set forth in the path that is unraveling itself before our very eyes, that the make of our ships can and will endure the journey, and to jump, bravely and boldly, heart racing, with a smirk. Perhaps that smirk is to spite the inhibitions, perhaps it is because of the joy of finally jumping from our branch, or perhaps both. Sometimes, it is nice just to sit and listen to the wind rustle the leaves. I cannot stop the leaves from changing colors, and I cannot stop the fear that lingers in my mind. When I think about it, none of that even matters. My heart could flutter, butterflies flapping in my stomach, as I wipe the sweat from my brow. What matters is that we jumped anyway. We jumped off our branch, flying into our odyssey, highs, lows, and in-betweens, tears, laughs, and far too many unforgettable memories to recount, living the life we were meant to live, so that when it comes time to meet the ground, we will not discover that we have not lived. So here we go, with ill-fitted blue scrubs, a set of scuffed-up clogs, and a little too much caffeine, I catch a glimpse of myself in the sliding front doors of the hospital; tired-eyed smile as I sneak back into the resident’s lounge, just a leaf, riding the wind.