It is the first week of September, which here in Aotearoa means we have officially moved out of winter and into Spring. I woke up this morning with a curious thought: why doesn’t Spring rate highly in my favourite seasons? Especially as I do love magnolias, cherry blossoms and daffodils (in that order).
Currently, my ranking is Autumn, Summer, Winter, then Spring. Summer used to be higher, but since moving to Christchurch I have fallen in love with our abundance of non-native deciduous trees. And it is a season that will always be tied to the memories of our dog, with his birthday, adoption day and goodbye all falling in April.
Which reminds me of another significant person in my life, whose birth and death dates also fall in April. He passed many years before we got our dog, but I imagine they would have adored each other. They both had a similar gentle and calm way of being in the world.
So back to Spring, what could the season possibly have done to warrant last place? How could I possibly dislike the season we associate with hope, new beginnings and cute baby animals?
I think there is something underneath this curious thought. What if I rank Spring low because, with the possibility of newness, comes expectations? And along with expectations comes fear.
The fear of disappointment and the fear of failure.
We moved around a lot when I was a child, each move came with loss and the possibility that this time would be the fresh start we all needed. Over time I became a rather cynical person. Rather than expecting the best, I was bracing for the worst. The messaging I took on was to avoid becoming too attached to anything, because nothing lasts forever.
Sounds a bit like Jedi training.
Then when I reflect on my journey with undiagnosed ADHD, I remember often being told I was not meeting my potential. I was academically capable but inconsistent. Producing great work at the last minute, fuelled by anxiety and adrenaline. Holding the answers in my head but not raising my hand out of fear of being wrong. Turning down opportunities because if I did well, more would be expected, and if I failed, people would see I was a fraud.
The work of my lifelong companions; rejection sensitivity and imposter syndrome.
Now that my understanding of myself and these companions is growing, perhaps the time is right to review where I stand in my relationship to new things and expectations.
I started a new thing. I have moved from the step of thinking about going into private practice to actually doing it. Through my writing, I’m sharing my internal processing. Exposing layers of myself to the world with the awareness that not everyone is going to like it or agree with it. That doesn’t sound like the behaviour of a fearful child who learned to brace for the worst. That sounds more like bravery.
So I guess I am moving into a new season of my life, one full of possibilities.
Welcome, Spring.
