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October 20, 2026 · 4:00 AM

Somewhere Between Summer and Winter

I suppose that’s where I find myself these days, somewhere between summer and winter.

I’m no longer the woman I was when life felt like an endless summer, when there was always another child to raise, another goal to chase, another hill to climb.

But I’m not ready for winter either.

Maybe that’s what October is trying to teach me. There is beauty in the season between seasons, just as there is beauty in every season of life.

We don’t always recognize that we’re entering a new season until we’re already there. Sometimes we spend so much time preparing for the next one that we forget to appreciate the one we’re actually living.

I’ve done that more times than I care to admit, looking ahead, wondering what was coming next, instead of pausing long enough to notice what was happening right in front of me.

Perhaps that’s what I’m learning now. I don’t have to have all the answers about what comes next. I don’t need to rush toward the next chapter simply because the current one is changing.

I can pause here.
I can look around.
I can be grateful.

Summer had its purpose. Winter will have its purpose, too. But October reminds me that this season deserves to be noticed, embraced, and lived fully, not just endured on the way to something else.

Maybe that’s why I find something comforting about the changing leaves. They don’t fight the change. They don’t cling to what they were. They simply let go when the time comes.

There is something beautiful about that kind of trust.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)

Somewhere between summer and winter, I think I’m learning that the in-between isn’t something to hurry through.

It is a season of its own.

And maybe, just maybe, it is one worth savoring.

En algún lugar entre el verano y el invierno

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Filed under Personal

Tagged as change, gratitude, growth, reflection, seasons, transition

June 10, 2016 · 10:02 PM

Metamorphosis

My family was poor. As a child, by not owning four-legged friends, I grew an interest in the behaviors of tiny critters, such as insects. Curious at what lay beneath the ant piles, I liked to dig apart their colonies to watch the different activities of the workers, the soldiers, and the queen ant that I read about in books. I never developed a fear of grasshoppers, even if they spat “tobacco” on my fingers, or of handling caterpillars that pricked when they crawled on my hand, or of sneaking up on lizards that left their wiggling tails behind — I was too caught up wondering what the funny red thing on their throats going in and out was all about. My fascination for those critters was a favorite pastime.

Not all school projects were memorable, but I recall one that stuck with me for years. When the teacher assigned a report on any subject, I decided to pick caterpillars. On a large poster board, I drew the four stages of the butterfly: (1) egg, (2) larva, (3) pupa, and (4) adult. I described metamorphosis. Though it wasn’t a Picasso, my work earned a ranking on my school’s hallway wall, posted for all to see, with the highest mark in class: A+.

One sunny day at school during recess, I found a black, woolly caterpillar crawling in the shrubs and unafraid, gently placed it in my palm. A classmate asked to see what I held. When I opened my hand to show him, he whacked it so hard that the caterpillar flew out and disappeared onto a bush. And that’s when I morphed! Without hesitation, I slapped him on the face, hard. The boy stood stunned, mouth open.

As an adult, I often thought about the word metamorphose. It means to change completely in nature or form.

I think back to how alcohol deceived my loved ones, giving them a false sense of power. After drinking, like the caterpillar many years ago in my book report, they metamorphosed into social butterflies fresh out of their cocoon. They felt invincible, glamorous, or intelligent. Gone were the restraints that crippled them emotionally. They carried a false sense of bravado. It was then that they laughed wildly, conversed freely, and flirted openly.

The more attention and compliments they received from others, the less they knew the difference between genuine praise and mere flattery.

(A small excerpt taken from Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace. )