On Becoming a Beginner Again

Well, in case you didn’t know, Homesense has moved the garden gnomes to the clearance section and stocked the shelves with ornamental pumpkins and Halloween wreaths. We all know that this is code for the annual summons from our capitalist overlords—back to routine and productivity. It feels kind of nice though, doesn’t it? To turn a crisp new calendar page and see it open to the potential of new seasonal goals. To gear down from the manic pressure to savour every sunny summer day and break out the tea and sweaters for cozy, dusky fall evenings.

Summer can be so extroverted. The days stretch so long and bright, nature is so visually alive, and gardens so abundant. September marks a real shift into interiority. As the days shorten and the weather cools, we are called back into ourselves, harvesting what we’ve planted and taking stock of what has grown.

I’m finding myself in a particularly excavative place since my return to school. I spent the month of July immersed in coursework on theories and skills of counselling. August was dedicated to preparing my master’s thesis proposal. Now, as I move into the fall term, I’m studying ethics of practice and, with it, facing a substantial call to explore my own positions of privilege and marginalization.

It’s a lot—in a necessarily unsettling way. And it feels almost counter to the social pull of autumn, where predictability and familiarity rule. After 21 years of developing one kind of practice—cultivating the attunement, empathy, and compassion through massage therapy that I expected would make me a great therapist—I find myself occupying a beginner’s mind again, thinking of the therapists I admire and having absolutely no idea how I could ever get there from here.

And yet, this humbling place feels far more aligned with the natural rhythm of fall. While we settle back into familiar routines, nature is transforming—shedding, decomposing, and making space to nourish new potential.

We do this, too.

Perhaps the invitation here isn't to transform, but to become curious about the transformation already underway. Who are you in this season, and what happens when you resist being contained by the rigidity of expectation or formula? What might become possible if we loosen our grip on what we already feel we know? About ourselves, about one another, about where we think we are supposed to be at this stage of life? About our bodies, what we need, or what comes next?

There’s quiet excitement in uncertainty. There’s terrifying potential in starting again. Maybe growth doesn’t always require reaching for the next thing. Seeing new possibilities requires attention, intention. What feels possible is often already shaped by the paths we’ve been taught to follow and the stories we carry about who we are. Sometimes growth asks us to relinquish certainty—to investigate our taken-for-granted norms—and make room for what we haven’t yet learned to see. How does your body respond to this possibility?

For me, the direction of change is palpable. And there is also something deeply grounding in returning each week to the familiar rhythm of this work, connecting with clients in meaningful ways. I may not always be the same person you’ve known me to be. If you’ve been with me for a while, this will be no surprise. Thank you for continuing to meet me with patience, curiosity, and engagement—and, most of all, for being with me on this path while trusting me to accompany you on yours.

Welcome, September. Welcome, whoever you are becoming in this cycle. Breathe, stretch, expand, rest, release into it. Begin again.