Changing seasons

Summer is my favorite time of year. Nothing beats long, sun-filled days, trips to the beach, fresh-steamed blue crabs, and garden-fresh tomatoes. The warm, muggy nights of summer are perfect for dancing under the moonlight or drinking beers with good friends in the backyard. Everything is alive in the summer. By August's end, plants are reaching for the sky, lush and green, and there's something fun and exciting going on every weekend. Summertime is youthful and energetic, a time for play.

I spend the beginning of each fall lamenting summer's end, but this year I am feeling something new. This year, as the weather cools and the days become shorter, I find myself standing face-to-face with the brevity of my existence.

Summer has turned into fall, which will soon turn into winter, then spring. Another year of my life will have passed me by.

Time has become a precious commodity. The hopes and dreams that I have held dear to my heart, yet at arms-length, are suddenly prominent in my mind. My desire to break free, to escape the rat race, to do something that really matters is burning and urgent.

If I don't take a chance and follow my dreams soon, will I ever? Will the daily grind that my life has become consume me? As I approach 30, I worry that I will become complacent and settled in my ways, whatever they are.

I am torn. I find comfort in the predictable and secure life I have built for myself, but I yearn for spontaneity and adventure. I want it all. I want nothing. I want to feel connected, but I feel like running. Running back toward the idealistic person I once was, the life I once lived, before so many summers had passed by.