Autumn is many things to many people. For some, it’s a celebration of sweater weather, the sound of pots bubbling with soups and stews, and the joy of swapping out the light duvet for the heavier one. For others, it’s the sadness of saying goodbye to summer, and misery at the colder, wetter weather, shorter days and darker nights.
These days, I’m a hopeless romantic once September hits – it has grown to be one of my greatest loves. But there was a time when I just didn’t understand it. For years, the arrival of autumn felt like a personal affront, as if the universe was conspiring to inconvenience me, make me miserable, to make it harder to wake up in the mornings, to get out of bed and get on with important things such as, you know, going to work and earning a living.
While every season now has its place in my heart, my love of autumn in particular has been a gentle process of discovery and, in fact, self discovery, which makes it all the more special. It has been a process of slowing down in my life and learning to be one with nature. This is something I denied myself for the longest time. At school, being fascinated by trees and birds was simply not a cool thing to do. Growing up in an Indian immigrant family in London, we didn’t really do the great outdoors. Once I hit adulthood, I wore the identity of “city gal” proudly, moving through life at breakneck speed, feeling most comfortable surrounded by buildings and dodging tourists on the tube. But thankfully, there came a point later in my adult life, where, surrounded by a community of loving friends, I found the freedom to surrender to a part of me I had assumed I wasn’t allowed to embrace.
In falling in love with nature, I have come to have a deeper connection to and appreciation for cycles of renewal, rebirth, flowering, fruiting, death and decay that are inherent to this planet. In this new acceptance, I feel a sense of belonging. I am no longer disembodied. I now see autumn – with its spectacle of blazing reds, yellows and oranges on trees, explosion of wild fungus, and satisfying crunch of leaves underfoot – as a celebration of the senses. I have a new capacity to surrender to what is, rather than worrying about what could be, or what has been. It’s a practice of being present that has been a surprisingly effective antidote to seasonal anxiety.
What was once an inconvenience – grey clouds, cold weather, soggy socks from getting caught in the rain – is now an opportunity to plan ahead and, dare I say it, indulge in practicality. As the saying goes: “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing.” I’ve swapped my canvas trainers for waterproof hiking boots. I don’t buy, I invest in faithful hooded raincoats. And for those days when the sun decides to make its final appearance and the freezing temperatures haven’t yet descended upon us, there’s nothing like layering up in a brightly coloured cardigan – such as this soft souffle yarn cardigan from Uniqlo, which comes in a range of hues – to go for a walk in the local park.
Since having our son, my husband and I have made a point to get out in nature as much as possible with him. I want him to develop an inherent love of being outside in a way that I wasn’t necessarily encouraged to do when I was growing up. But then again, my childhood autumns were rich in other ways, defined by the many festivals I got to choose from, from both cultures I belonged to. Harvest festivals, Halloween and Bonfire Night were interlaced with the Ganesh festival, Navratri and Diwali. And now, as an adult, I find my relationship with the season has changed all over again.
Two autumns ago, I relocated from England to Oman. It was early September, and once we landed in Muscat, I remember feeling what I called a “circadian dissonance”. Being closer to the equator meant that even though it was September, the temperature was hotter than any UK summer I had ever experienced, and yet the sun was setting at a time that felt distinctly like late October to me. The move was 12 months in the making, so I’d had plenty of time to prepare myself mentally, physically and emotionally. But the sense of loss I felt, of no longer getting to experience a UK autumn, caught me off-guard and highlighted how deeply I had come to love that season.
Now, a couple of years into Muscat life, I’ve come to accept that autumn has become more of an emotional state than a physical experience – I lean on a lifetime of UK autumns to keep it alive in my heart. I get to open and step into a memory vault of all the sensations that are unique to that part of the world at that time of the year. I will forever feel nostalgic for the low-flying autumnal sun casting long shadows on leaf-carpeted woodland walks, the kiss of an October chill on my cheeks as I step outside, and the smoky smell of fireworks being let off for Diwali and Bonfire Night. If you’re surrounded by the sights, sounds and textures of autumn, take them in – they’re yours to enjoy.
Want to make life a little better this season? Snuggle up to the soft touch of men’s and women’s knitwear from UNIQLO
