As the leaves change, so do we
New school year, new me
By AMBER DUHS — alduhs@ucdavis.edu
As the summer heat eases its grip on the earth and the cool autumnal breeze ushers in the colder months, we’re reminded of the start of the school year and the new beginnings that fall brings. I don’t know if it’s the repetitious nature of the back-to-school season, or if I've convinced myself that I must fall and regrow as the autumn leaves do, but the start of the academic year always gives rise to recollection and reflection.
Each August, in synchrony, I reach for my journal and begin plotting my picture-perfect school year. From my elementary school years — dictated by what was popular on the playground — to the high school antics of trending makeup and Pinterest-inspired outfits, I recall falling asleep to grand visions of an improved personage presenting herself to an awestruck student body. The routine never changed, just the parameters by which I judged the success of my rebirth.
This natural period of recollection builds upon the well established tradition of purchasing new school clothes or a backpack in an effort to look our best in a new grade or classroom. In university, we may not hold such utopian visions of the academic year — our higher academic experiences are often plagued by midterm frights, internships, work or long lab schedules. Instead, we use the natural flow of the academic year to define new eras of ourselves.
In the early stages of our lives, the tradition may have been laced with more vanity — our goals underlined by uncertainty or a need to feel accepted — yet, the older we get, the more we view the imminent changing of fall as an opportunity to engage in serious self-reflection. In my experience, whether it’s the friendships that grew stronger, the friendships I let go of or the simultaneous, cumulative depletion of effort in both my relationships and schoolwork, I feel the shift and lean into the cycle of autumn rebirth.
The autumnal revamp of my adult life allows me to reflect on the development of my friendships. I recall the lecture buddy who I was so excited to follow on Instagram but never got around to messaging. Or, I think of my close friend I spent every second with in spring quarter but haven’t heard any updates from them about their summer.
My proclivity toward a positive start to the quarter doesn’t limit itself to one-dimensional goals, but instead transforms into quasi-New Year's resolutions. I meticulously plan how, twice a week, my roommate and I aspire to eat dinner together — emphasizing shared time in addition to our shared space. Or, how I plan to eat two plant-based meals out of my daily three in an effort to consume less animal products. I even find myself harping on my workout sessions, planning to engage in exercises laced with mindfulness and positive affirmations rather than counterproductively focusing on an imperfect body.
The beauty in this cyclical revamp is that our brains are symbolically wired in preparation for change as the fall leaves drop. In the same way that we prepare ourselves for the cold front and rainy days, we prepare our minds to be intellectually stimulated from classes again or for our schedules to be constantly overfilled. When we use this momentum of academic change to think deeply about our internal changes — who we are, why we want to change and how we’ll do it — we push the cycle forward. We transform our thoughts of which pencils will look the best in a pencil case to how we want to budget our limited free time in preparation for the future, as well as invest in blooming friendships.
Written by Amber Duhs — alduhs@ucdavis.edu
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.