The do’s and don’ts of fall

Do: Take a breath, one strong enough to strain your stomach muscles and whirl the morning autumn air down your throat and between your bones. Taste the fog of dawn on your tongue, fog which rolls over the Bluegrass land like a thick, wool blanket. Remind yourself that these moments are temporary. Remember that air is a gift and thank the earth for allowing you to breathe such a sickly-sweet smell as you walk out of your dingy apartment building.

Don't: Let the weight of your bookbag sag your posture like an old tortoise. You must unzip the thing, scold your two-ton textbooks and say, “You are just books! You cannot do anything to me!” You have bought the books; the books have not bought you. Know that everyone thinks school is heavy, and you are not a polka-dotted design, sticking out like a sore thumb, for struggling. We are all funky and come in a variety of shapes and colors.

Do: Call that one friend. Rip the band aid off and dial them up old-school, leaning against the chipped kitchen wall and twirling the phone cord. Tell them you miss them. Tell them to meet you at the local coffee house, the one with the creaky oak floors and mason jars labeled MORACCO, POM APPLE, and ENGLISH BREAKFAST. Sit for hours, talking with enthusiasm about your trip to Boston or your grad school of choice. Return the favor and drink up their words with delight.

Don't: Skip the important stuff. You should fill your water glass to the brim, until it’s beginning to spill over. Pick the one that you refuse to give up, the one that reminds you of your mother’s smile, like the novelty cup you got on vacation. Pack a sack lunch until the bag starts to rip. Fill your stomach with warm cider and your nose with the fragrance of roasted pumpkin seeds. Sleep on cool pillows and rise in the morning like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Listen to your body with the care of a mother hearing her baby breath against her. It is not something you can set aside for later.

Do: Etch crude smiles into blazing orange pumpkins with good company. Step on crunchy, dry leaves: the reds; the yellows; the browns. Thrift bulky sweaters to hug your body through the cold nights. Let the smokey smell of campfire seep into your pant stitches as you sing folk tunes. Throw on a nostalgic cartoon in the living room as you sink into your family's old love seat. Celebrate every tiny victory and completed assignment. Have fun without guilt.

Don't: Give up. Do not tell yourself that you are in the wrong place. Do not attempt to carry the weight of an entire year on your shoulders. Live only for today. And then the next. And then the next. Take in every tiny detail of the fall semester. Live in it rather than through it. Breathe deep once more and say to yourself: It’s the little things that will always matter.