Uncertainty and the Promise of Growth
What the Autumn Equinox Teaches Us About Letting Go and Growing
In Japan the red spider lily signals shūbun, the arrival of autumn. Many Buddhists will use it to celebrate the arrival of the new season with a ceremony at the tomb of one of their ancestors, seeking harmony between the physical and spiritual worlds. Wherever you may be in the world, the seasons shift, and the world around you slows down; the autumn equinox invites you to pause and reflect. This brief period of time where day and night are perfectly equal before nights get longer mirrors the ebb and flow of our own lives. That brings me to the deeper significance of the equinox, which isn’t just about balance, albeit fleeting. It’s also about release. Just as the trees shed their leaves, we too are called to let go of what no longer serves us, making space for growth in the now.
The last five years of my life have been an intense reminder of this truth. They've felt like a gateway, a passage between who I was and who I am becoming. It hasn’t always been clear. In fact, it’s been messy and confusing at times. But, in the midst of the turmoil, there’s been clarity. Each version of myself I’ve learned to release has deepened my understanding of how we, like nature, are in constant flux, both physically and spiritually. What we hold on to, whether it’s old narratives, relationships, or habits, can weigh us down. Letting go, though painful at times, opens the door to transformation. And this should not surprise us. I mean, think about this for a moment. We’re living on a planet spinning around the sun, hurtling through the universe at an unimaginable speed. We are always in motion, both cosmically and personally.
Brain Molecules, Light, and the Dance of Letting Go
Science, too, reflects this constant state of change. Cortisol, our body’s stress hormone, fluctuates with the seasons, rising as the days grow shorter and sunlight diminishes. As daylight recedes, cortisol increases to keep us alert, ready to face the challenges ahead. It’s nature’s way of preparing us for the darker months, just as the trees prepare by shedding their leaves. And here’s the thing: our bodies are perfectly designed for this transition. For every hour that the sun rises later, our cortisol levels rise, reflecting how deeply interconnected we are with the cycles of the Earth.
But cortisol isn’t the only player in this seasonal dance. Serotonin, often called the “happiness molecule,” also responds to the changing light. As autumn arrives and sunlight fades, our serotonin levels begin to drop. This can sometimes lead to a quiet sadness, a sense of melancholy as the brightness of summer dims. But as the brightness of summer fades, this decrease in serotonin can be seen as a natural nudge to turn inward, to reflect, and to find joy in the subtler moments of life.
The brain, like the body, adapts. As the trees let go of their leaves to conserve energy for winter, our minds, too, prepare for quieter times, encouraging us to find balance and contentment even as external sources of light diminish. We are, after all, creatures of both biology and spirit, and this seasonal shift is a reminder that even in moments of seeming scarcity, there is beauty and growth to be found.
Creating Space for New Growth
This letting go has also required grieving the old parts of myself. I’ve had to mourn the person I once was, the expectations I had, the identities I thought I would carry forever. In the past, I resisted this grief, fearing that letting go of these parts would mean losing something essential. But I’ve come to realise that releasing these old facets of myself isn’t about loss; it’s about making room for something new. Just as we prune the garden in autumn, cutting back overgrowth in preparation for the quiet months ahead, we, too, must pare down aspects of ourselves that are no longer in harmony with our present life. Pruning can be scary. It may seem harsh. Will that plant grow again to cover that space with abundant colour? The uncertainty of what might be can feel like a knot in your stomach, but it’s necessary to clear space, allowing for fresh shoots to emerge in the spring. The same is true for our inner growth.
The act of shedding, of releasing, isn’t a one-time event. It’s cyclical. Like the trees that drop their leaves every autumn, we too are constantly evolving, constantly letting go. And as we release, we make space, not just for survival, but for thriving.
Growing Hurts
There’s a quiet grief that comes with personal evolution. In letting go of past versions of ourselves, we sometimes feel a deep sense of loss. I’ve written before about how we grieve our former selves, and that process is a necessary part of growth. The versions of ourselves that we leave behind aren’t failures. They were who we needed to be at that time. As I’ve let go, I’ve discovered that the depth of my growth lies not in adding more to my life but in narrowing my focus, prioritising quality over quantity. This has allowed me to cultivate deeper, more meaningful connections with the people and passions that remain, nourishing the parts of me that need the most attention.
You might be in a completely different situation to mine, but there’s no denying that you are not the same person you once were and that, as you move forward, it’s important to acknowledge that you no longer need to carry those versions with you. The grief we feel as we realise that truth is part of the healing, part of the transformation. It’s okay to mourn what was, even as we embrace what is. In many ways, this grieving process reflects nature’s cycle of death and rebirth. The leaves that fall to the ground decompose and nourish the soil, providing the foundation for new growth. In the same way, the old parts of ourselves that we release serve as a foundation for the next version of who we are becoming.
Balance is Fleeting
The autumn equinox offers us a moment of balance, but it also reminds us that balance is fleeting. Just as day turns to night, we too are in constant transition, always moving, always evolving. These past five years have taught me that letting go isn’t just about releasing what no longer serves us; it’s about making space for what’s next.
As you move through this season, I invite you to reflect on what you are holding onto that might be weighing you down. What chapters of your past life need to close in order for you to grow in the now? Grieve them if you must, but know that in letting go, you are creating space for something beautiful, something new. And, perhaps most importantly, remember that just as the Earth spins on its axis, hurtling through the universe, you too are in constant motion. Change isn’t something to fear; it’s something to embrace. After all, transformation is the only constant, and with every release, you step closer to who you are meant to become.
Happy Equinox,