It’s getting colder, and looking back on the Year of the Snake and this Fire Horse year, some of us are realizing just how much our lives have changed.
Some of us are happier than we were this time last year. We made a decision, took an opportunity, or welcomed someone who changed our everyday lives. Others are still working through a change, wondering what comes next, or missing someone they thought would be here.
The Snake’s shedding and the Fire Horse’s movement, courage, and freedom give us a spiritual way to reflect on those experiences. The moon and the changing seasons give us moments to pause and notice them.
We may recognize something of our own lives in these cycles, even though we’re experiencing them differently.
Looking back at the Snake year, some of us know how much we shed. Expectations we carried. Familiar routines. The habit of putting our own plans aside. Beliefs about how a relationship, a job, or our future would unfold.
Sometimes that shedding came with something we wanted.
We became parents and found our days organized around someone new. We became grandparents and discovered another kind of love. Our children grew more independent, and we began figuring out what to do with time that had once belonged almost entirely to them.
Some of us became single. Some started dating or welcomed a partner into a life we had grown used to managing alone. We changed jobs, began a project, or took on a responsibility that mattered to us.
I’ve been thinking about this in my own dating life, too. I’m not actively looking right now, but I’m open to meeting someone. The new direction I’ve chosen may bring me into places and conversations I wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. Perhaps that’s where our paths will cross, while we’re each going about our lives. I don’t know, but I like leaving room for that possibility without needing to make it happen.
With each change, parts of our lives needed to adjust.
We could love being a parent and miss having an uninterrupted afternoon. We could enjoy an empty nest and still listen for sounds that used to fill the house. We could be happy in a new relationship and need time to get used to sharing our space.
And sometimes we were simply ready. The change suited us. We felt more comfortable, more interested in our days, or more like ourselves.
For others, the shedding came through recognizing what no longer fitted.
Perhaps the cracks first appeared at work. A concern went unanswered again. Our contributions were overlooked. We began to question whether the place we had given so much to still had room for us to grow.
Perhaps we felt it in a relationship. Conversations became less natural. We noticed that we were usually the ones arranging a visit or checking in. We still cared, but the connection had changed.
Whether at work, among friends, or within family, we may have begun to see how often our time and effort were taken for granted.
At first, we made allowances. People were busy. Things might improve. We could try again.
Eventually, we had to consider what was actually happening and how we wanted to respond.
Some of us had already been thinking about a change. We were making plans, waiting for the right time, or wondering how we could make it work. Then something happened that brought the decision closer.
Another conversation made things clear. A situation became harder to stay in. Or an opportunity appeared, and we could finally see a way forward.
It might have come sooner than we expected. We might not have felt completely ready. But it was an opening for something we had already been considering, and we took it.
That’s where the Fire Horse’s movement, courage, and freedom take on meaning.
A change we had been thinking about became something we were living.
For some of us, this happened earlier in the year, and we’ve had time to settle in. We like the new job. We feel appreciated in our relationships. We’ve returned to something we enjoy. We look back and think, “I’m glad I did that.”
Others are still making decisions or adjusting to what they’ve already chosen. We may feel sure one day and uncertain the next. There may be practical things to work out before we can take another step.
We can recognize the same themes of shedding and movement without expecting everyone to be at the same point.
And once something has changed, returning to the way it was may no longer be possible. We’ve learned something about the situation or about ourselves. Our needs are different. Our priorities have shifted.
Even a relationship we repair will include what we now understand.
This brings me to my Theravāda Buddhist understanding of impermanence, or anicca. Life does not stay fixed. Our circumstances, relationships, bodies, and feelings change.
In everyday life, the practice is learning to accept that change.
Sometimes acceptance comes easily. We’re delighted to welcome a baby. We’re ready for a new job. We’re enjoying a relationship that feels right.
Other times, we keep comparing what is happening with what we expected. We wish our children needed us in the same way. We want a friendship to feel as effortless as it once did. We’ve made a good decision, but we miss the routine we left behind.
Acceptance can begin with acknowledging where we are now.
Our children have grown. Our role has changed. This relationship needs a different kind of effort. This job no longer suits our life. We’re happier than we were, even if getting here was uncomfortable.
Accepting change doesn’t mean we have to like every part of it. It also doesn’t mean continuing to accept treatment that hurts us. Recognizing a situation as it is can help us decide what needs a conversation, a boundary, more time, or a different direction.
Some things are within our influence. Others aren’t. It can take a while to recognize which is which.
That becomes especially difficult when someone we love dies.
We may understand that death is part of life and still reach for the phone to call them. We may have lived through months without them and still expect to see them in a familiar place.
Accepting their death doesn’t mean feeling that it was okay. It means slowly learning to live with the reality of their absence, while our love and memories remain part of our lives.
There may be days when that reality feels settled and days when it catches us all over again.
Among the Five Remembrances in Buddhism is the recognition that we will experience separation from those we hold dear. Another reminds us that our actions matter. In my own reflection, these teachings bring me back to how we care for one another while we are here, and how we respond when life changes.
There is no need to turn every loss into a lesson. Sometimes we miss someone, and that is what we’re feeling.
Now autumn is giving us another view of change.
The Harvest Moon has passed. The leaves are falling. The evenings are longer, and the air has grown colder. Some of us enjoy this season and everything it brings. Others find the quiet lonely. We may feel both, depending on the day.
The Harvest Moon brings to mind what we’ve tended through the year. We can notice what grew, what took work, and what surprised us. The falling leaves bring us back to what we’ve released. The moon’s changing phases give us a regular moment to pause.
For those of us who find spiritual meaning in the zodiac and the movements of the planets, the sky offers another way to reflect. These traditions are distinct from Buddhist teachings, but they can sit alongside them in our personal understanding of life.
We look at the cycles around us and consider our own.
A season of starting something. A season of caring for others. A season of change that took more out of us than we expected. A season when things finally began to feel right.
We may not have noticed the shift while we were busy living it.
And as Halloween approaches, with Thanksgiving and Christmas soon after, the changes in our lives can become especially clear.
Some of us are choosing a baby’s first costume. We’re making plans with a new partner, inviting people into a new home, or looking forward to having everyone together.
We’re getting out decorations, deciding what to cook, and watching children become excited about traditions we remember from our own childhoods.
There is a lot to enjoy.
There can also be a moment when we hear a song or begin making a familiar dish and think of someone who used to be part of it.
We may wish we could ask them a question. We remember how they arranged the table or told the same story every year. Someone mentions their name, and we laugh. Later, we feel their absence.
Some of us are welcoming a new family member while wishing someone were here to meet them. Others are spending a holiday single for the first time in years. Our grown children may have families and plans of their own.
A gathering we counted on may look different now. We may love the new arrangement, need time to get used to it, or find ourselves missing something we hadn’t expected to miss.
Accepting change becomes very ordinary here.
We work out a different day to get together. We keep a recipe and change the guest list. We decide how much we can take on. We try a new tradition or enjoy an old one with different people.
Sometimes we’re relieved to do things differently. Sometimes we would give anything for one more holiday the way it used to be.
We can be happy with our lives and still miss someone. We can enjoy the gathering and get quiet on the way home. We can look forward to Christmas and find one part of the day difficult.
The end of the year gives us familiar moments through which to see how much has changed. Last Halloween. Last Thanksgiving. The plans we made last Christmas. We remember who we were with and what we thought this year might bring.
Some things unfolded as we hoped. Some turned out better. Others took us somewhere we never expected.
Looking back at the Snake’s shedding and the Fire Horse’s movement, we can see what we’ve released, the choices we’ve made, and how much has changed. Some of us are enjoying a life we once only imagined. Others are still working out what comes next.
As autumn deepens and the holidays approach, there are people to remember, moments to enjoy, and plans to look forward to. We can carry love for what came before while making room for what matters to us now.
This season gives us a chance to listen to ourselves. Where do we feel valued? What leaves us worn out? What brings back our excitement? Sometimes we’ve known the answers for a while, but acting on them means stepping away from something familiar.
That’s where the Fire Horse’s courage, movement, and freedom speak to us. Courage can mean having the conversation we’ve avoided. Movement can mean taking one practical step toward a plan we keep postponing. Freedom can mean choosing how we spend our time instead of always putting ourselves last.
Sometimes the opportunity we’ve been waiting for arrives, and we’re still afraid to take it. We can look carefully at what’s in front of us, trust what experience has taught us, and consider the possibility that we’re more ready than we think.
That chance could be the beginning we’ve been hoping for.
