When I was in high school, my very favorite time of year was fall. September. I loved going back to school. Starting anew. Back to seeing friends. New classes. New chances. New school supplies (AH! I love school supplies!) I loved marching band. I loved Friday night football games. Crunchy leaves and frost in the mornings. Sweaters and hot cocoa and bonfires with friends. Some of my happiest times and fondest high school memories come from crisp fall nights.
As I grew older and became a teacher, I loved September, but for different reasons. I loved new faces in my classroom—new chances to meet new people. If the year before had been crummy, this was a fresh chance. If the year before had been amazing, then something new to live up to. And, you know, football and leaves and frost and sweaters and hot cocoa, and bonfires with friends.
It’s weird. As other people think about fall as the beginning of the end of a year, I always think of it as the beginning of, well, the beginning. A new year dawning. Fresh starts. Comfortable routines. (I have a feeling that most teachers feel that way, too. I actively seek out “academic year” calendars that run from July to July instead of the ones that start in January. Is that weird? Teachers, you with me?)
I had no idea when I was in high school or undergrad what September would end up meaning to me, but in my adult life, it has become the month for which I am most grateful. Some people take the month of November to innumerate all the things for which they are thankful, what with it being Thanksgiving and all (how predictable!) But not me. For me, it’s September. And not just for the football and leaves and frost and sweaters and hot cocoa and bonfires with friends (although, let’s be honest, I do still so love all of those things), but instead for all the things that September has come to mean for me as a grown up.
It seems astonishing to me that 10 years ago this month, I started in my doctoral program at Penn State. This event was life altering to me in ways I never would have expected. Yes, I got a terminal degree that changed the course of my professional career (NBD.) And yes, it was the best four years (well, five and a half, in the end) of my life, having met such amazing friends both in my program and in the town where I lived—friends that I will no doubt have for the rest of my days. Penn State was the place I got my first professional job; where I followed my mentor and where I sadly also had to say goodbye to him. Penn State was home. Penn State was family. (And, we’ve mentioned my love of fall football, right?)
And most importantly, ten years ago, on a random September day at Penn State, I met J.
It was unceremonious. Almost accidental. But the beginning of fall reminds me of the beginning of us, even when, at the time, there was absolutely no us that was beginning.
Most of you know that J and I fell in love through writing-- or at least that I fell in love with him through his writing. I can’t totally confirm that the first time I read his writing was in September, but it was assuredly fall. The beginning of the school year. The beginning of something new. New feelings. New connections.
And so it makes sense to me that we got married in September. That today is our anniversary. The beginning of another something beautiful. (It only took us six years to get it together after that first meeting. We’re a little slow on the uptake.) I love that we got married in September. And it’s been a wonderful, hard, exceptional four years of laughter and love and tomfoolery. This guy, who in the beginning didn’t pull a second glance from me, has taught me more about what real life, and real love, and real sacrifice mean than any other person in the world.
It’s hilarious to me that last night, the night before our anniversary, we were both sitting on the couch, obviously distracted, thinking about how we could carve out the time to get away from one another for a few minutes to go and write something beautiful for each other as our gifts to celebrate today. It’s hilarious and ironic, and exactly what you would expect from the two of us: me working on this piece next to him on the couch, and J working on one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever read there on his computer, a piece that will forever be held in my heart as one of the most loving letters a man could write to his wife.
(Please take a moment to read why I fell in love with my husband by reading his anniversary piece here.)
One year and three weeks after we were married, we gave birth to Ellie. Another wonderful September beginning. And we could not have possibly conceived how she would change our lives. Not just our lives to the outside world, but our lives as a married couple. Children change a marriage. Make it new and challenging and exhausting and exciting. You learn interesting things about how people handle stress, how people express frustration, and how limitless a person’s capacity for love can be. I certainly know that the deepth and breadth of my feelings for my husband expanded exponentially the first time I watched him hold our daughter.
Yesterday, I was reading an article on unconventional songs played at weddings. One of the songs on the list was one I have always loved, by Earth Wind and Fire, aptly named “September.” It’s one of those songs that I always sorta groove along to when I hear, but that I had never really listened to the words of. It seemed like an odd choice of wedding songs to me, until I read the lyrics. It’s perfect. Perfect for weddings. And perfect for us. And perfect for my celebration of September.
So please, share today with me my love of my husband. The love of my kiddo, and my love of September with a little Earth Wind and Fire. It’s a good way to mark yet another beginning of another beautiful year.
“September” Earth, Wind and Fire
As I grew older and became a teacher, I loved September, but for different reasons. I loved new faces in my classroom—new chances to meet new people. If the year before had been crummy, this was a fresh chance. If the year before had been amazing, then something new to live up to. And, you know, football and leaves and frost and sweaters and hot cocoa, and bonfires with friends.
It’s weird. As other people think about fall as the beginning of the end of a year, I always think of it as the beginning of, well, the beginning. A new year dawning. Fresh starts. Comfortable routines. (I have a feeling that most teachers feel that way, too. I actively seek out “academic year” calendars that run from July to July instead of the ones that start in January. Is that weird? Teachers, you with me?)
I had no idea when I was in high school or undergrad what September would end up meaning to me, but in my adult life, it has become the month for which I am most grateful. Some people take the month of November to innumerate all the things for which they are thankful, what with it being Thanksgiving and all (how predictable!) But not me. For me, it’s September. And not just for the football and leaves and frost and sweaters and hot cocoa and bonfires with friends (although, let’s be honest, I do still so love all of those things), but instead for all the things that September has come to mean for me as a grown up.
It seems astonishing to me that 10 years ago this month, I started in my doctoral program at Penn State. This event was life altering to me in ways I never would have expected. Yes, I got a terminal degree that changed the course of my professional career (NBD.) And yes, it was the best four years (well, five and a half, in the end) of my life, having met such amazing friends both in my program and in the town where I lived—friends that I will no doubt have for the rest of my days. Penn State was the place I got my first professional job; where I followed my mentor and where I sadly also had to say goodbye to him. Penn State was home. Penn State was family. (And, we’ve mentioned my love of fall football, right?)
And most importantly, ten years ago, on a random September day at Penn State, I met J.
It was unceremonious. Almost accidental. But the beginning of fall reminds me of the beginning of us, even when, at the time, there was absolutely no us that was beginning.
Most of you know that J and I fell in love through writing-- or at least that I fell in love with him through his writing. I can’t totally confirm that the first time I read his writing was in September, but it was assuredly fall. The beginning of the school year. The beginning of something new. New feelings. New connections.
And so it makes sense to me that we got married in September. That today is our anniversary. The beginning of another something beautiful. (It only took us six years to get it together after that first meeting. We’re a little slow on the uptake.) I love that we got married in September. And it’s been a wonderful, hard, exceptional four years of laughter and love and tomfoolery. This guy, who in the beginning didn’t pull a second glance from me, has taught me more about what real life, and real love, and real sacrifice mean than any other person in the world.
It’s hilarious to me that last night, the night before our anniversary, we were both sitting on the couch, obviously distracted, thinking about how we could carve out the time to get away from one another for a few minutes to go and write something beautiful for each other as our gifts to celebrate today. It’s hilarious and ironic, and exactly what you would expect from the two of us: me working on this piece next to him on the couch, and J working on one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever read there on his computer, a piece that will forever be held in my heart as one of the most loving letters a man could write to his wife.
(Please take a moment to read why I fell in love with my husband by reading his anniversary piece here.)
One year and three weeks after we were married, we gave birth to Ellie. Another wonderful September beginning. And we could not have possibly conceived how she would change our lives. Not just our lives to the outside world, but our lives as a married couple. Children change a marriage. Make it new and challenging and exhausting and exciting. You learn interesting things about how people handle stress, how people express frustration, and how limitless a person’s capacity for love can be. I certainly know that the deepth and breadth of my feelings for my husband expanded exponentially the first time I watched him hold our daughter.
Yesterday, I was reading an article on unconventional songs played at weddings. One of the songs on the list was one I have always loved, by Earth Wind and Fire, aptly named “September.” It’s one of those songs that I always sorta groove along to when I hear, but that I had never really listened to the words of. It seemed like an odd choice of wedding songs to me, until I read the lyrics. It’s perfect. Perfect for weddings. And perfect for us. And perfect for my celebration of September.
So please, share today with me my love of my husband. The love of my kiddo, and my love of September with a little Earth Wind and Fire. It’s a good way to mark yet another beginning of another beautiful year.
“September” Earth, Wind and Fire
