This August finds me in a whirlpool.

It’s not always a bad thing. But it is a thing. You know the feeling? 

Consolation comes from knowing that I was in this exact whirlpool last August, too.  

Something about sensing life was about to change, that life needed to change, but reaching that oblique “changed” point could only be done with blind steps into the mire.

Being here again makes me think about years, and seasons.

It’s been said that the human condition follows a relative harvest year (not necessarily congruent with regional climates). So…

Spring/Planting → Ideas-Action-Creativity

Summer/Upkeep → Results-Outcomes-Maintenance (weeding)

Autumn/Harvest → Results of Effort-“What’s Next?”-Preparation for winter

Winter/Death → Doubt-Scarcity-Incapacity

On and on, the season cycle continues.

It certainly seems applicable to my past year. If so, winter has begun. All my habits have been falling off. Even morning journaling—a stalwart for 10 months—has diminished.

Much that’s been planted, loved, grown, and harvested now seems lethargic or inert. It’s scary. My first impulse is to figure out what’s wrong, but maybe it’s just frozen ground for a while.

Natural—not wrong.

If the seasons theory holds, productivity should come again, sooner or later.

This reminds me of something else: love. Ever noticed a similar cycle play out in relationships?

Anyway, that’s all I have. I’m in New Zealand with the prospects of spreading roots here for the foreseeable (short-ish-term) future. Fittingly enough, it’s winter here. I wonder what’s next.

I’d love to hear your thoughts? Leave ’em below.

photo:photopin.com