Accounting for Autumn

How I've spent all these sad, Ostrichless hours.

Accounting for Autumn
I missed you so much I had to wreck stuff.

I did wonder, as a man who lives for the attention of the masses, whether I'd thrive on the Ostrich's new monthly schedule. While I've missed our Sunday morning chats, I'm handling the deprivation fairly well. When I need to spout opinions at someone, I direct them at the wall, which serves robustly in your stead, though I notice the paint is peeling.

Meanwhile, I've kept myself busy. In my spare time I've destroyed a perfectly good kitchen. The act of shredding wood and gypsum, steel nails in their hubris, with the shrieking vigor of a sixty amp sawzall was a good expression of my mood this November. Probably I should rebuild that kitchen at some point, but that's a task for future me, whose burden grows apace.

It's been a season full of music, too. It was a great pleasure of mine to join—how many—forty-some other performers for the Songs of the Sphere performance, with songs by Mrs. Tycoon and artwork by our longtime friend, Beth Lorio, an event described by one newspaper (this one, right now) as "A tour de force of artistic tapas; a sublime collection of nature songs, intimate as individuals, soaring in combination." Now those two are hard at work on a "sonic oracle deck," an immersive experience and a tool for self-reflection. If the confluence of music, visual art, and digital magic strikes your fancy, their crowdfunding campaign is nearly at its goal, but there's still room to join the project.

Then, of course, I had my seasonal theme to contend with, and I gave myself a big one for the Autumn. I declared it Back to School Fall, and so, in my home life and my work, I've been focused on learning, giving myself "classes" and assigning plenty of homework. This has been a good and useful experiment, but also a powerful time-suck, explaining why my friends have heard so little from me this fall. In the final assessment, I signed up for too many subjects, and should have focused more on fewer things, but the goal wasn't really to stuff myself with knowledge. The point was to remind myself that I enjoy the student's life, and that the world is full of compelling things to learn.

Many of you have heard me beat the drum of seasonal themes too many times already, but, if you'll forgive the lecture one more time, a theme is the kinder of cousin of a resolution. Instead of promising (and failing at) some goal of personal change, you put a metaphorical dot on a chosen compass point. Then, when you face a decision, you let yourself be led in that direction. You can't screw up a theme; it just is. A good theme is broad and resonant, appealing to a genuine desire or curiosity, with plenty of leeway to maneuver.

For the winter, which starts on Saturday (at last!) I think I'll give myself a less demanding theme. Unless I change my mind, I'll celebrate my Winter of Color, and see how color can change my environment and my experience. If you like the idea of a winter theme, and you want to pick one for yourself, I'd love to hear what you choose!

I was thinking I'd choose a yearly theme, too, for 2025, but maybe it's more interesting to look back and see what theme the year has chosen for me. For myself, I'd say that 2024 has been a Year of Possibility, exploring the worlds that could be, and grappling with the fact that the familiar world isn't fixed forever.