An Autumn Apple and a New Moon
Another apple-picking field trip, but this time, it was my choice.
After spending six years in the same school community and leaving with an immense amount of joy and fulfillment, I spent the summer preparing for what fall may bring me. I spent many days out in the warm sun, walking around my neighborhood, spending time by the water, connecting with nature, taking myself out to eat, reading, writing, drawing, and curating a life that helped me see that this was a set up and not merely a set back.
July was the most transformative. I was met with energy I never thought I would encounter, but I remained rooted. Like I’ve been saying, “I am the stability, and I bring it with me.” Those are the words that keep me grounded. It is my voice, aided by the deeply unseen, and still, I remained full.
August came and went, and before I knew it, September had arrived. I felt more alive than I did last September, but this time, I had no school community to return to, just a home that needed tending to.
So I invested. I invested in creating a routine that works for me, not the typical 9–5, but one that allows me to remain who I am at my core, no matter what community I may be stepping into.
Then October arrived, and I quickly started to feel a pivot, but graciously, I wanted to keep my own vision in mind. The work of a humanitarian isn’t about a person or a place, but the system, the steps, and the disruption necessary to see the change I am currently living.
Most people believe in luck and leave magic out of the equation, but life is truly magical for me on an ordinary day.
I missed “my kids,” my students, my little loves who are forever growing. I reached out to my previous school with no particular response in mind, but I remembered how apple picking was my favorite trip because the whole school went. It was also an opportunity to see my previous students.
So I volunteered, and I was present.
When I say the love was overwhelmingly satisfying, it was.
Here I am, walking down the same halls where the adults used to scatter when they saw me, now looking at me with joy. The children? Forget about it. As soon as I walked into the room, they couldn’t help but jump out of their seats and join in on the group hug.
They kept asking if I was there to stay or if I would be there with them next week. Some were upset, but I quickly reminded them that the day was theirs and that I would spend it with them, having fun and enjoying who they’d grown to be.
I met a few new faces, and they quickly found that the love I had for them was natural. So, they, too, wanted me to stay.
I read a book with one. I sat next to another. I took a few more in a small group as they ran down the orchards, grabbing apples until they couldn’t anymore. I could tell they just wanted to be close.
You see, one thing about me: I love them unconditionally.
Last year’s group are now fourth graders, and they weren’t too cool for me.
This trip reminded me that autumn is when things change. We are preparing, and we are moving toward the next season of uncertainty. Especially here in New England, where we can have 80-degree weather in October and many snowstorms by December.
The beautiful part about stepping into the same environment in this new season was that it taught me something: I must love forward.
Everything I accomplished there was just a stepping stone to what is near. It may not be clear now, but what is clear is that every life I’ve impacted has reminded me that my presence matters, even after an absence.
I am the stability, and I bring it with me.
And the human in me will continue to be a revolutionary.