September 23, 2025
Autumn has a way of reminding us that endings don’t have to be dreary. They can be radiant. John Burroughs’ words cut right into this truth: leaves don’t wither quietly; they blaze. They turn gold, red, and orange, lighting up the sky as if to declare, “Don’t forget us, we were here, and we mattered.”
That’s a lesson that speaks well beyond trees.
Aging as Illumination
Growing old doesn’t get great press in our culture. We’re told it’s about loss: lost youth, lost strength, lost relevance. But Burroughs flips the script. He reminds us that the final days can be the most brilliant. Aging isn’t just about decline, it can be a culmination. A peak of wisdom, gratitude, and perspective that only shows up because of the miles traveled.
I’ve seen this play out in family members. My father wasn’t exactly vibrant in his forties, he was all work, no rest, a man shouldering responsibility. But in his eighties, he’s playful, funny, wise in a way that only comes from decades of mistakes and recoveries. His “leaves” are on fire.
Beauty in Transitions
I think autumn resonates because it mirrors the transitions in our own lives. We all face endings, jobs, relationships, routines, chapters. Sometimes those endings feel like loss. But like the leaves, they can also be a chance to shine.
Think about it: some of the most beautiful moments in life happen as things shift. Graduations, retirements, kids leaving home. There’s grief in letting go, but also a deep richness. It’s the contrast that gives it color.
How Do We Grow Old Beautifully?
So how do we carry this lesson into our own lives? Maybe it starts by asking what our version of “color” looks like.
- Relationships: Do we leave behind warmth and light, or bitterness and shadows?
- Work: Do we contribute something that still glows when we’re gone, or do we fade into forgettable tasks?
- Self: Do we allow ourselves joy, curiosity, humor—even in the last chapters?
When I look at my own life, I think about those golf clubs in storage. They aren’t winning me any trophies right now, but they remind me of a season when weekends meant chasing pars with friends. They’re colorful in their own way. Not as practical as they once were, but still meaningful.
Maybe growing old beautifully isn’t about clinging to usefulness, it’s about being fully ourselves, full of light, until the last breath.
Today’s Reflection
Burroughs’ line challenges me to think: if my life were a tree, how would my leaves look? Would they blaze at the end, or shrivel quietly? Would people remember my last days as full of life, or drained of it?
I want to choose color. I want to choose light. Because, in the end, the story isn’t just about how tall the tree grew, but how bright it burned when it let go.
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