“We must prepare
for an end.” 
Gwynn Scheltema

In a recent article, award-winning writer and poet Gwynn Sheltema wrote, “Falling leaves symbolize change and even though they are brilliant in color, we know what is soon to follow — winter.” 

Today marks the beginning of the final week of autumn 2024. The official start to the season of winter is Saturday, December 21st. A break in the rain offered me an opportunity to get out for an afternoon walk today. It was a blessing for so many reasons.

As Sheltema pointed out in her article, “Fall brings a certain melancholy.” While the astounding beauty of the autumn leaves may leave us in awe, we can’t help but be reminded that after a lifetime of growing and thriving on the tree, each falling leaf has served its purpose in life. Each one helplessly floats to the ground where, for a brief time, we recall and appreciate its presence in our lives. It’s just a matter of time, however, before the rakes and leaf-blowers send these leaves, and our memories of them, to their final resting place.  

Why the feelings of melancholy? As Sheltema wrote, “Our symbolic human autumn of maturity must prepare us for the winter of old age and death.” We are well aware that death is inevitable for each of us. We devote a lifetime to making a name for ourselves and making a positive difference in the world. Most of us would like to be remembered for who we were and, perhaps, what we accomplished in our lifetime. In reality, like the leaves strewn upon the ground which will soon be swept-up and forgotten, we, too, will eventually become a forgotten memory.

In the introduction to my book, The Ambassador of 38th Avenue, I quoted a line from John Steinbeck’s short story, Tularecito. The author wrote, “After the bare requisites to living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he really existed.” This thought crossed my mind today as I walked through the colorful, leaf-strewn neighborhood. 

It is humbling to realize that, much like the leaves on the streets and sidewalks, memories of me and the time I have spent on this earth will be relatively short-lived. My name will not appear in history textbooks. There will be no parks or city streets named after me, nor will there be any statues erected in my honor. My name will not grace any buildings on the campuses of the schools I attended. Yes, I’ve published a few books which may or may not be read in future generations, but I readily admit that my life will be much like the rock tossed into a placid lake — it will temporarily cause ripples which will inevitably dissipate over time.

It’s understandable that one might allow such feelings of melancholy to overwhelm them, leading them to an experience of hopelessness. Such a reaction is not the only option. What others think of me, if they do at all, after my death is not of interest to me. What motivates me to get out of bed in the morning is the opportunity to make a positive difference in the lives of others each day, to lighten the burden on those who are suffering, and to help others to recognize that they are enough just as they are. Society and media bombard us with messages telling us that we are inferior and deprived, then offer us some product that will magically make us significant. Sadly, these messages can be quite convincing.

Today’s walk through the neighborhood provided time for me to immerse myself in gratitude for the people, experiences, and opportunities I have had, and continue to have, in my life. When we make a concerted effort to see the world around us Through the Lens of Gratitude, life improves considerably.