Dissolving into Fall: A Lesson in Stillness

Life has a way of pulling us in a thousand directions at once. Notifications, deadlines, chatter — even as someone who teaches serenity and the art of slowing down, I found myself caught in the rush.

Today was the first time in what feels like forever that I actually stopped. I sat down amidst my favorite fall foliage in New England, a landscape so breathtaking it almost hurts, and allowed myself to dissolve into it through plein-air painting — one of my favorite practices for reconnecting with stillness and self.

And yet, even there, stillness wasn’t easy. Dogs barked, babies cried, and my mind kept searching for the next distraction. It felt impossible to truly relax.

But here’s what struck me: despite all that, I stayed. I stayed seated. I stayed with the noise. I painted through the interruptions. And that, in itself, felt monumental.

It’s astonishing how hard it is to pause — even at a literal stop sign — when our phones light up every few seconds. But the act of pausing, of claiming a few moments just to notice how beautiful the world is, can shift everything.

So, if you’re reading this, consider this a gentle invitation: force stillness into your schedule. Push yourself to witness the quiet transformations around you — the falling leaves, the softened light, the air thick with change.

This change of seasons is bigger than our to-do lists, bigger than the daily hustle. It’s a reminder of what truly matters — of the cycles that keep us grounded, humble, and whole.

To those I haven’t seen in a while, and to the new faces finding this space — hello. Today’s reflection comes to you from a small, shimmering pond in Cambridge, where I finished a quick half-hour plein-air piece. Just enough time to remember what it means to breathe, to observe, and to return to my priorities.

If you’re craving a creative reset or longing to explore mindfulness through art, I invite you to join one of our upcoming art classes in Brookline at Diana Stelin Gallery. Let painting outdoors remind you that serenity is something we can all practice — one brushstroke, one breath, one season at a time.