All the Leaves Are Gone & the Skies Aren’t Gray

I love fall, autumn, the leaves changing, the crispness in the air, the far-off smell of someone enjoying a fire. I couldn’t imagine not physically experiencing this shake and stir to my system each year. This chilling reminder of my smallness in the bracing extremes of the downward shifting temperature and gusty winds that grow as we move closer and closer to winter here in the Mid-Atlantic region.

We moved from Baltimore City a few years ago and are incredibly fortunate to have the surrounding beauty of a range of masterpiece canopies throughout our neighborhood in Howard County. While we were fortunate to live near the beauty of Herring Run Park and enjoyed the tree cover, we lived in a row-home so were spared the endless barrage of leaves blanketing everything in front of our house. As we approached the end of October, it felt like an unending amount of leaves. We love the colors—it’s magical—and then, it’s also like we’re under assault. You’ll have it cleared, only to awake and feel like the tree in front of our house just laughed at us and blanketed the ground again. A mischievous reminder of the gifts and struggles we receive by the blessings of nature—our own and that of the Earth’s beautifully complex design.

I love the beautiful mess that lies inherently in everything. In all corners, all species, all times, and all sorts of encounters, life can turn from the most mundane moment into a life-altering, forever-never-the-same, reality-shifting narrative, creating a chapter you could never imagine writing if you tried. I’m leaning into some uncomfortable truths and beliefs that free me from myself and allow for that unique mix of both grief and growth. I am grieving the person I once was. She’s carried me so far and brought me a life of incredible humans that I can’t imagine not having with me as I take these next steps.

It’s hard to unknow, unless you refuse to grow. I could choose to go on living in this life feeling no respect for the life I’m living for myself, suffering of my own control. God deserves me to live better. I am grateful for all the humans I have journeyed through life with, and if I chose any moment in my life differently, I would not know now what I cannot unknow. It’s not my story to write, even though I’m finally feeling like I have more freedom to write it. It’s in realizing all I have to do is be me, without all of the shame and judgment that I learned at a young age.

When I started this journey, I was so proud of the gift of working again seven days a week and always being on—returning to a time in my youth where I split my time between working in a local furniture store and in a local aftercare program. One of the best years of my life was when I made the tough decision to not go back to college after my sophomore year at New York University. In hindsight, the decision to listen to what I needed was as profound as how I found my energy balance. I could go weeks constantly going, and it was rarely work, much like I think of work now. I was navigating the appropriate energy for the appropriate times of day.

I’d go into the shop during the morning, help with inventory, light sales, rearranging displays of goods and furniture, then I’d head to the school in the afternoon and play with kids—coloring, creating stories, and running around on the playground, playing sports, chase, make-believe. You name it, I could find myself game. Then some days, I’d head back to the shop to close it down with a coworker who was often navigating similar life challenges, so we’d talk, work with clients, clean, and then either go out in the old town or head home and do it all over again the next day.

I loved this balance. I love navigating between playful encounters and creative explorations while utilizing my love for systems and process, and building connections through listening and giving space to whatever the person in front of me wants to share and explore. I sit in the flow of this balance of life naturally, and it’s taken me a long time to rediscover this balance again. And yet, it’s hard to commit. It is really hard to erase the voices, work against the narrative that for years has been playing in the background.

I have an incredible power to stir the pot and cause chaos where power goes awry and toxic voices yield their way. I have witnessed myself in reflection, and I live uncomfortably with hard truths. I hold space for silently witnessing patterns and behaviors that betray the responsibility inherent in many who hold great power. As a person who’s spent a lot of time working with children, I’m very aware of how important it is to demonstrate what you hope to see. We all must be the models for the world we want to live in, and yet so many do not see themselves in the world they create for others.

I deeply believe we’re approaching a shift. As the world navigates the changing landscape geopolitically, I know locally here it can very much feel like there is so much hope and good work, and yet there is still so much hunger and fear. We are in a place where we are being tested for our shared human capacity for growth and encouraging opportunities for all individuals and players to grow as a human society, valuing our strengths and supporting each other to grow through our weaknesses. This is where I am forever the theater major who deeply believes, “there are no small roles, only small players…”

No matter where I am, getting labs done or in the conference room, all humans in my shared environment are potential players in the story of my life. I see all humans for that inherent value. We never know who can play the role you need at the time you didn’t know was coming exactly when it does. Life. We have no power; we are all just players in the wild sideshow.

I understand the cycle, the ups and downs, the highs and lows. I ride the wave and understand that sometimes in darkness, we find light, and from here, like seeds in soil, we grow. This is a great power, and for a long time, I’ve feared that what I heard as a child was true. I am a manipulator. If you’ve heard me sing a sad song, I know my ability to share my heart through voice and words. It is a vulnerability I share because my life holds a gift in reflecting that we all feel and we all bleed, and no matter our difference, we know—at least most of us, no matter where on the globe—the power of love and the connection that each of us holds.

I am currently working my way through “Tiny Experiments: How to Live Freely in a Goal-Obsessed World” by Anne-Laure Le Cunff. I have enjoyed reframing how I approach my to-dos and calendar with more of the creative mindset of a scientist figuring out the right balance for my personal needs, goals, outputs, and outcomes. It’s all an adjustment. Owning myself as a business owner. Thinking about my reality of the years to come and the next phases of accomplishment towards our final vision. It’s exciting and nerve-racking and earth-shattering, but I am grateful for my struggles, as I know I’m living through extraordinary times where many on this planet are living through real physical, geographical pain and starvation. I work now towards a world for more to find freedom and safety and understanding in belonging.

I work now for my ancestors. I am a business owner like many who came before me and many who never fared the chance. I am a business owner. I don’t like the term own-er. I think it is inherent in my family’s legacy—owning over sharing, stewarding, occupying, being present in a shared space with shared responsibilities to respect and a balanced approach to living with others and navigating lives of difference. I lean towards being an entrepreneur because there is a bit of novelty in it, or the sense of being a novice is implied—not an assumption of having something figured out that is of value separate from the vision and dream, but that is available to own and sell and manage, not lead.

Separate from those internal voices that can make familiar pursuits more comfortable, I’ve found my way back to networking, as I’m growing a business and it’s important to get the word out. That said, I hate sizing-up questions—measurements for gauging. I love “tell me more” questions, stories that get deeper in understanding for the joy of connection and a shared belief that we’re all given one life to live and value, so I’ll value yours as I value my own.

As we close out November and move closer to winter and the holiday party season, the leaves have nearly all dropped. We can see more clearly now out of our front windows, past the naked trees, to the approaching winter sky. There’s something clarifying about that view—the bareness of the branches, letting you fully embrace their shape. A freedom from the weight they’ve carried all year, ready, lighter, conserving and storing their energy for the winter season.

I encourage anyone willing to dig into the discomfort of self-reflection. What types of questions are you asking and what connections do they establish with each new encounter? Are we building gathering spaces where people are valued and treasured, or measured and then valued? Are we receiving others with curiosity and grace?

Let’s build a more inclusive community that seeks understanding and grace, so more people can find comfort this holiday season. It’s cold out there; let your heart shine and bring warmth this holiday season.

With love, gratitude, and grace—for ourselves and others,

Mallorie