By Elyse Boldizar

This weekend brought the return of cool weather and something about it felt different this time. More permanent — not just from the other cool days this September that have come and gone, back to the heat. Something felt different than any other cool day in any other year. Everything always feels exciting and new at the beginning of fall. People start picking tables in the sun to eat their lunches at, songs you listened to so much you got sick of them are suddenly good again, jeans are brought out, skies are bluer, and it feels like everything is happening for the first time. No matter how much I grow and change during the summer, I always seem to come back to myself in the fall. 

I read an essay a couple of years ago which I always remember at the beginning of fall. Out There: On Not Finishing by Devin Kelly tells the story of participating in Big’s Backyard Ultra, an all-night race where runners must run four loops each hour with no marked finish line. Kelly writes about the magic of having no end point, both in the race and in life. He describes life like an ocean — big and seemingly without any conclusion. Marked more by experiences than a big build-up to the end.

I don’t know why I always return to this essay. It’s good, but a lot of essays are good. I guess it’s just part of my September now, just like sweaters and orange leaves and Gilmore Girls. The beginning of the season reminds me of who I was at this time last year. As fall goes on, I settle into myself for a while. But then the next September arrives and the leaves change color again and I’m back acting like I’ve never felt the cold before.

As I get older, I wonder if it will always feel this way — each year, a loop of remembering, forgetting and remembering all over again. The ocean’s waves keep pushing and pulling and we can’t stop them. Hard times feel everlasting, until they end. Good times always make their way back until they’re pulled away. We lose ourselves and find our way back again and again.

I’ll soon remember who I am this September. I’ll stop drinking chai and listening to Tyler the Creator songs, gushing at how blue the skies are in September, laying in the sun. Everything will lose its shine: the cold will be too cold, I’ll move on to other songs and interests, and it will feel like I’ve changed. But September will come again and, just like that, the blue skies will have never been that blue and I’ll find myself all over again.