Written by Zoe Manoukian
Saturday, September 22 marked the Autumnal Equinox. I hate to sound contrarian on the cherished matter, but more than that, I hate to pander. This is the first year that I have let myself admit to my contempt for the season, and with this liberation, I have come to clarity. I maintain that deep within ourselves, humans share a mutual disdain towards autumn’s taxing implications, but feel a social tug to entertain the notion that we find the uncomfortable and inconvenient months to be romantic
Consider, for instance, the rhetoric that we begin to perpetuate. The air is “crisp”, i.e. biting. The breeze is “brisk”, i.e. the temperature is warm but the wind is cold. Life is “ephemeral” and our ears perk and our heart breathes at the nostalgic sound of leaves crunching beneath our boots, i.e. everything is starting to die and the ground is slippery. Now, sweater weather is on everyone’s mind, and the ever returning discussion point of bringing out the scarves was dull the first time. Candid photoshoots are not candid! Everything tastes like pumpkin, when the only thing that should taste as such is the gourd itself! This time period presents us with a difficult to navigate gray space of hot and cold and gloom and forced festivity.
So instead of navigating, we succumb to insisting on how charming the affair is. An instagram post about your annual hike and the ever importance of opening your eyes to the soil beneath you doesn’t make you transcendental, it makes you brainwashed, and indicates denial. For the sake of accessing our authentic most psyches, we must collectively confront our honest grievances, lest we remain trapped in Plato’s cave.
