A few weeks ago, when I started planning for summer, I realized that, in terms of the chronology of my days, I am living in the summer season of my life.

I just turned forty, so I have lived a little, and, I hope, I still have about half of my life left to live. I am no longer at my beginning, but also not yet near my end. I am living in my extra-hours-of-daylight season. My the-sun-is-strong-and-hot season. My the-leaves-of-my-tree-are-full-and-heavy-yet-limber-and-lively season. It feels good here.

I am definitely past my spring days, any new buds of growth have long ago settled in as full, weighty, bright green leaves.

I bet that if I could meet my spring season self, now that I am in my summer season, she would barely recognize me as her future self. I’d tell her to get comfortable where she is planted, some of the leaves around her will become her lifelong friends. I’d see that she is beautiful, but also a little unsure of herself, feeling like she is growing slower or differently than others. She might ask me, “Why is this taking so long?” And I would just laugh and reassure her that she still has a lot of blooming to do, because coming into your full self is a process. Be patient with it. Seasons take time.

In many ways, I am not yet in my autumn season. My days haven’t started getting shorter and cooler quite yet. I am only just starting to feel the hint of a cool breeze brush past me every now and then; only just now seeing a tinge of brown in the deep green creases of my leaves.

If I could meet my autumn season self, I imagine she would greet me with a refreshing voice, brisk and crisp. Her honey brown leaves would show like a glow against the fading sun . . . and the firming of her leaves, brought on by the cooler weather, would make her appear more sturdy and sure than rigid and brittle. In the cool of the evening, I imagine a swirling breeze that initiates a cascade of shaking leaves that sound like applause — gratitude for all their days lived so far, and grace for the days to come. Seasons change.

My leaves still feel far from the cold of winter. I am not yet ready to grow brittle, curl in and eventually let go of the branches that have always held me. If I could meet my winter season self, she would whisper to me about how she had to leave the home she knew for so long. She would tell me of her long process of letting go — of the strong, rustling winter winds that brought out a wistful song the whole tree sang together.

She might tell me of her friends and neighbors who left before her — of her swaying back and forth and gently down, down, down to the earth below that used to seem so far away. She would tell me about how, all her life, she fluttered high above — dancing open and free — before she came to lay on the damp, firm ground. She’d exhale, to welcome the rest and stillness it provided. Seasons are sacred.

But, for now, I am living in the summer season of my life. And I want to honor it. I want to keep honoring my body. Keep building healthy bones, strength, balance and flexibility. Keep being brave enough to authentically approach the harmony between intentional rest and allowing myself to push toward new physical and movement goals.

I want to keep honoring my mind. Keep mindfully exploring my thoughts and emotions. I want to keep being curious and continue learning new things about myself, others, and the world. I want to keep honoring my spirit. Keep holding loosely to what I think I know to be true. Keep listening to the still, small voice inside of me, and the big, loud one, too. Keep expanding possibilities and continue walking hand in hand with the faith that holds me close.

I want to keep honoring my community. Keep learning from older and younger women. Keep authentically sharing space, time, words and feelings with those I love.

How about you, Sis? What season of life are you in, and how are you embracing it? Tell us in the comments — we want to hear all about it.