Here in Maine this past week, during late-mid-August, we had a few days that were distinctly autumnal: A chilly breeze, a sense of early darkness, brown leaves appearing from seemingly out of nowhere on the sidewalks and in the crevices.

A member of one of one my supervision groups noted these changes and expressed some sorrow about it. “It feels like summer is over. Everything is ending. It’s too soon.”

Yes, I thought: endings are losses, and losses bring sadness. I could see the pain in his eyes, and I appreciated it.

Let’s hold here for a moment.

If we stay with our sadness at loss for a bit, we may notice further feelings — feelings of tenderness and love towards that which we’re losing, or feelings of gratitude, or perhaps even some anger or fear.

Staying with an experience, rather than scrambling away from it, can lead to a kind of organic, next-adjacent-step in experiencing.

(We may also, of course, simply be with the pain of the loss for a while.)

Again, all of this assumes an initial perception of “autumn-as-ending.” But the starting situation could be different.

For example, it turns out that I have a very different response to intimations of autumn than my supervisee does. I believe this has to do with my association of autumn with the start of the school year: New clothes, fresh notebooks, novel classes and subjects, and interesting new people to meet. For me, the turn to fall is a beginning, not an ending, and conjures in me feelings of anticipation and excitement.

I want to be clear that I am not saying that my experience of the situation is somehow “better” than that of my supervisee. While my excitement may feel more pleasant to me than his sadness does to him, “pleasant” doesn’t necessarily mean better. (I’m told that heroin provides quite a relaxing experience. But I wouldn’t say that, for me, it would be better to use heroin than to not use it.)

It’s possible to see the change of seasons as a both/and: as both a beginning and an ending. Depending on the angle from which we regard a situation, we will feel and experience that situation very differently. Each view, and each consequent experience, has its potentialities.

Try this:

Notice that at this very moment you are perceiving. That is, notice not only the object of your attention, but that you are the noticer, and that you do so from a particular point of view. Then, see what shifts you are able to make in your view, and notice how this does or doesn’t change the way you feel.

(If this is very challenging, you may be helped by experiential therapy!)

My supervisee might be able to feel the excitement of the new season; I might be able to feel the sweet grief of the end of summer.

There isn’t a “right” way, there are different ways.

Your life could be richer, more varied, and more whole for it.