Birth (or, Baby's First Halloween)

On Sunday, I went over to Meagan’s to help decorate her home for little William’s first Halloween. We strung up witches and scarecrows, pumpkins and skulls, eyeball lights and cats. Halloween is certainly one of the best days of the year, and we had the most lovely, mellow time hanging out with my new “nephew,” watching him sleep, showing him how great Halloween is. And we’d even started the day with a trip down to the Saturday Market under the Burnside Bridge, so we could spend some time together in this crisp and fresh autumn air. I found myself during the day also thinking about Jenn, and her new son Damian, who was born just three days after William (and also on my brother Aaron’s birthday).

Birth: it consumes us. The birth of a child, the birth of a novel, the birth of an idea or a new way of looking at the world. We are surrounded, inside and outside, by reincarnation and fresh starts and triumphs over the past. The past is just an old skin to be shed – admired, yes, missed, maybe, frightened by, possibly, but still something to learn from and then move on from. Those demons and specters and ghosts of our pasts only gain strength – are given birth to – if we allow them to shadow our presents and futures in unhealthy ways that keep us in ruts or strip away our confidence.