Would you have called?

October! Sweaters, cinnamon, and the weight of being the one to reach out.

October is the world exhaling.

The air sharpens, sweaters emerge from the backs of closets (or, in my case, from under the bed, still faintly perfumed with last winter’s hot chocolate spill), and shop windows start glowing as though they’ve suddenly remembered they have electricity bills to justify. The ‘ber months – September, October, November, December – are here. Everything feels just a little more intentional, a little more celebratory. My favorite time.

It’s the season of intention: intimate gatherings, dinner tables growing fuller, twinkle lights strung up, train tickets booked. The crisp autumn breeze, the crunch of leaves, the taste of cinnamon being shoehorned into foods it has no business being in (no, I love cinnamon; I condone this). Even leaving the house becomes intentional: you bundle, you debate scarf thickness, you try to remember where you left your gloves (spoiler: last March on bench in Amsterdam).

“Autumn is my season, dear; it is, after all, the season of the soul.”

Virginia Woolf

And yet, as the world around me grows warmer, I notice something else: this is the time of year I work the hardest to hold people close. I’ve always been the one who texts first. The one who sends the “let’s catch up!” text, who remembers birthdays, who sends postcards (whether we live nearby or not) just because I’m thinking of you. I organize coffees, dinners, “come visit me!” weekends. I love being invested in my friends’ lives. I ask questions, I gush, I care. But, lately, it’s felt like I’m the one that’s left to call.

Because sometimes it looks like a friend is in town visiting but back on the plane before I even knew they’d arrived; a friend I’ve been trying to call for months says they’re “so busy” (aren’t we all) but never suggests another time; a friend leaves it to me to initiate, as though connection is a group project I somehow signed up to do alone.

And I find myself wondering: would they ever have reached out if I hadn’t? Would we ever have seen each other if I hadn’t made the plan?

Maybe it’s leftovers from childhood – the chronic case of “just put yourself out there!” Be friendly. Be the includer. Don’t wait to be asked. And mostly, I like that part of me. I like being thoughtful, that I remember, that I actually enjoy fussing over people I care about. But there’s also this small ache for reciprocity.

And this is what I keep bumping up against in adulthood: how hard it is to find connection in a world full of busy excuses and well-meaning barricades to intimacy. “I’m so busy.” “Let’s find time soon.” “I meant to text you.” So much good intention, so little follow-through.

So this year, as the ‘ber months unfold, I’m trying something new. I’ll still reach out – it’s who I am – but I’m also leaving some deliberate space. To see who remembers. Who calls back. Who takes the baton and runs with it. Connection shouldn’t have roles of who does what. It shouldn’t be one person holding it alone.

Maybe this season, as the nights grow longer and the gatherings grow brighter, you’ll think of the friend who usually texts first – and you’ll text them instead. You’ll make the plan, send the postcard, or pick up the phone.

Because if the ‘ber months are about anything, it’s about warmth. And warmth, when it’s shared, feels so much lighter to carry.

Sending you love + friendship,

xx Raye 💌

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