lessons from a lifetime of Septembers
the ever present urge to transform.
January has always felt like a false start. While most of the Western world drafts resolutions and pontificates about the importance of renewal, I remain loyal to the rituals of the past. With only twenty-four hours separating the ‘old’ from the ‘new,’ it seems more effort than it’s worth to reimagine my life or pretend that any sudden change of heart is anything but a performance. September is when the tide truly starts to change, and the urge to transform takes hold, bringing with it a poison of psychosomatic symptoms and fears I thought were better left buried.
Perhaps it’s the years spent in educational institutions, inundated with back-to-school commercials, or the arrival of Fall when the earth quite literally sheds. Still, I’ve never been able to shake this feeling. I take an audit of my life: How have I changed? Who have I met? What have I learned? Am I happy? However I’ve lived up until this point feels almost up to par, but not quite. I re-download dating apps, even though every second spent on those traps feels like death by a thousand cuts. It’s an attempt to propel some part of my life in the ‘right direction.’ I seem to forget, maybe for the only time that year, the many valid reasons I’m protective of my love—all to soothe the voice in my head that worries we’re wasting away in our caution.
Knowledge, or the acquisition of it, becomes paramount. The fear of epistemic immobility does something to me. Becoming complacent in my dedication to learning more about the what and why seems a pitiful end. Working out becomes a good idea again; it’s only in the autumn light that I start to see remnants of the athlete I used to be. Everything and anything is up for grabs when September comes calling.
Conveniently, the universe and I seem to be in alignment about September’s purpose in my life. Things always happen or solidify just in time for the annual survey. This year, I’ve started a new job, moved into a new place, and hit a few milestones writing the Onyiverse for you all. (All in July and August) I’m pleased with most of the changes I expect it’s all sparked. For the first time in years, I feel like I’ve fully embraced my creative side after setting aside my passions to focus on STEM. I’m living with a friend I cherish, and it promises to be a good time—though that’s up for evaluation next September.
Funnily enough, it’s not an idea I subscribe to alone. It came up at work with one of my coworkers and on the phone this morning with a friend. I asked her if she felt that same urge to transform this week and was met with instant agreement. She doesn’t start planning or making her mood boards in January; she always starts in September. My coworker credits it to the years of Fresher’s we’ve endured.
It’s a good test of the radical self-acceptance I try to practice, and in a way, it’s a necessary part of being who I am. What purpose would I serve to anything or anyone if I stayed the same year in and year out? As I said to my friend E last night, while I am fundamentally the same person, there are some key differences. The me from seven years ago would fear who I am today. Do you ever think that way? It’s a thought that comes up only when I really sit down and think about the different ways everything could have turned out. But when the initial panic dies down and I can see through the haze of my annual reflection, real progress begins, and I start to recognise the errors in my thinking.
There’s something that compels me to view change as inherently abrupt, at least initially and I can’t put my finger on it. It’s wrapped in symbolism and material objects; there’s always a physical or significant change to reflect the internal one. The years of my life are demarcated not only by time but also by the country I was living in at the time. There’s before my parents’ divorce and after. When I think about or explain a period in my life, I never start with who I was or how I felt; I begin with where I was, who was there, and how that felt. My life often feels like a revolving door of mini transformation scenes—picture Paolo in The Princess Diaries orchestrating my life.
In actuality, the change happens much more subtly, and in some cases, the only reason I can’t see it is because I refuse to—because if fear is a powerful motivator, comfort works just as well. I’ve touched on this before in a previous essay, but when I was younger, there were certain ‘truths’ I told myself to survive—more like forced myself to believe. Looking back, it was probably easier to view myself as unwavering than to deal with the inconvenience of change. Acknowledging, as it was happening, that I had outgrown certain relationships would have meant confronting isolation. Admitting the early signs of my parents’ divorce or my own individual trauma would have meant facing not only the dissolution of my foundation but also my perception of self. Instead, I bundle up my grievances for the year and wait until September, like a child hiding under the Christmas tree, ready to tackle each neatly packaged event when summer dies down. I trick myself into thinking I change on my own terms and in my own time. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it leaves me overwhelmed with all these ‘sudden’ realisations. I’m never beating the allegations of having a thing about control.
I’m pleased to say that it’s not all inherently negative. I’m often surprised at how much I manage to grow for the better in such short time spans. For example, my tolerance for disrespect—from others and myself—has dwindled to nearly none. I don’t maintain friendships that cause me unnecessary harm or stress, and if you see me out and about, most times it’s because I want to be there. These are the kinds of surprises I enjoy: realising how much I’ve grown and learning that I need to give myself more credit. I only wish these realisations would pop in and say hi throughout the year instead of showing up only as a salve for my already spiraling mind.
With everything being said, this September promises to be an easier reckoning than the last. Writing about it and thus inevitably understanding it means that it holds less power over me, and for once, I feel in control. Just as I tend to ignore the superficial rush of January, I am choosing to do the same for September and grow in my own time, as and when it happens. I will also be surrendering some of my control back to my beloved subconscious and letting it do its job. I don’t need to analyze every infraction or deviation from whatever I presume my ‘path’ is. I’ve been so hyper-aware of every little thought and its reasoning, and sometimes it works against me. As long as I move through this life with intention, compassion, empathy, and grace, I’m sure I’ll turn out alright.
Hope you guys enjoyed this week’s essay !! Decided to do a more personal one this time around
Don’t forget I have started the Dear X series where you can email in your writing prompts / queries and I'll write a letter to you in response. (all anonymous of course). Think of it as a literary agony aunt. If you want to participate email me using onyiverse@substack.com
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such an enjoyable read !!