I wish that fall would wait

This morning, Autumn received a very warm welcome on Facebook. Pictures of pumpkins and colorful fall leaves graced the newsfeed, and it seemed like most of my social media friends expressed some excitement about the season, whether it was high hopes for their football team or a Pinterest post on how to craft the perfect caramel apple. Fred Meyer wasn't much different...it smelled like cinnamon and cloves, and the aisles were packed with Halloween candy and costumes. 

Fall is my favorite time of year, despite the fact that I spend its Saturdays sitting in the cold rain and staring at a bright grey sky at my daughter's soccer games, and then cleaning a lot of mud out of our backseat once we're home. I just love decorating my home with scarecrows, and baking zucchini bread, and I'm usually the first in line for a pumpkin spice latte. But, not this time. 

For the first time ever, I'm not really that excited about fall. I never thought I would ever say that, but it's true, and I don't know why. Maybe because this year seems to have passed even more quickly than usual, or because I didn't have much of a vacation this summer? Whatever the reason, this fall feels like a Sunday evening around 5 p.m...that witching hour that I spend worrying that I didn't cross more off of my to-do list over the weekend. Not because I sat around in my pajamas eating popcorn, but because there's just too much on it, and I never say "no" to hanging out with friends and family. 

Fall feels like a ticking clock that's taunting me about all of the new year's resolutions that I kept moving to the back burner and rescheduling for the past several months, and now it's becoming a reality that my goals might not be accomplished this year. I didn't lose all that weight that I wanted to drop (and this is year number three of that), and I didn't save much money. Or pay off my Old Navy card. Or visit my grandmother at the beach this summer. Or finish editing my novel. Or quit eating gluten. Or follow the chore chart. And I planned to post weekly on this blog, but it's been more like monthly. 

Fall is flipping me off this year, big time! Before I know it, I will have a big turkey defrosting in my fridge while I'm untangling yards of Christmas lights and fighting with my husband over which fuse is out. Then I will procrastinate over making an appointment for our annual family portrait, and once I start receiving mailboxes full of everyone else's creative cards, I'll be frantically scrolling through all of my photos on Facebook from the past year. I'll try to find one that's not too blurry, where we're all smiling and my daughter is standing in front of me so I don't look fat. I'll write a letter about the awesome year we've all had... Hey, everyone! My book didn't get published this year, either, and we couldn't afford that Caribbean Cruise for our anniversary again. And we're still not pregnant..but Katie's got straight-A's again, and look how pretty her red hair is! Then I'll decide not to include it, and just pick the cutest snowman layout I can find at Costco. 

Once Christmas is over, it will be time to wallow in a little more self-pity about everything I didn't do again this year, before making another lofty list of high-intensity expectations for 2014. I don't know why I can't just pull on some cute boots and head to the pumpkin patch, without the dark cloud of guilt following me there. It's so ironic how often I complain about how fast time flies, yet I don't often enjoy the fun moments of my life without hearing that little voice in the back of my mind. The one that tells me that I'm just not doing enough, or that I need to give up on my dreams because I'm not handling the responsibilities as perfectly as I want to. 

I'm so passionate about everything I've taken on, and I truly love it all, but my unrealistic expectations are totally draining the joy out of my life. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother making those chore charts that I never follow...they are really more of a hindrance than a help, and turn activities into moments of dread. Why do I scrub the kitchen floor because it's Wednesday night's duty, instead of just lighting a candle and listening to Etta James while I dance with the mop? Why do I huff and puff on the treadmill for three days in a row before ditching my boring workout again, instead of just doing a spontaneous and fun physical activity, like hiking or joining a friend at the Barre 3 studio? 

I'm working on getting back to the heart of why I'm doing everything that I'm doing, in order to rekindle the passion that's become buried beneath a long to-do list. The passion that will make my life enjoyable rather than hurried. The passion that is free from guilt and obligation, because it springs from desire rather than duty. The passion that breeds true productivity.