Tuesday, September 22, 2026

They Sold Us Fall, Y'all!

 I remember when fall was something you experienced (back in the late 1900's - ha).

You could smell and hear fall before you saw it. Leaves crackling beneath your shoes, dry and papery, skittering across the sidewalk when the wind came through. Woodsmoke curled over the rooftops, carrying that sweet, dark smell of somebody's first fire of the season. The air had a bite to it, clean and cold enough to wake you up. At the Friday night football game, the field lights turned the October darkness silver, and the band sent brass and drums rolling into the stands. Your hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot apple cider, the steam warming your face. You pulled your sweatshirt tighter because you had underestimated the cold, and somewhere nearby a mother was unfolding a blanket while somebody's dad was hollering at the referee as if the fate of civilization depended on the third quarter. Fall wasn't something you decorated. It wasn't an aesthetic. It wasn't a lifestyle. It was something you stepped into. Something you could hear, smell, taste, touch and feel. It was just fall.

Then, somewhere along the way, we started buying the feeling.

Pumpkin spice everything. Fall candles. Fall mugs. Fall decorations. Fall outfits. Fall signs. Fall playlists. We were taught to associate a feeling with a product, and then the product became the way we accessed the feeling.

That's what I mean by a Happiness Hijacker. It doesn't necessarily have to take something away from us. Sometimes it simply gets between us and the thing that was making us happy in the first place.

The Happiness Hijackers figured out that fall could be packaged and sold back to us. And because we're human, we're remarkably easy to persuade. We want to belong. We want to be somebody. We want to be better. We want to feel in control. We want to believe we're living the good life. The 5 Bs are powerful human desires, and there's nothing wrong with them. The trouble begins when somebody else gets to decide what they are supposed to look like.

So we buy the candle. We buy the sweater. We buy the pumpkin-spice latte. We create the perfect fall atmosphere, and somewhere in the middle of all that buying, we can forget to actually experience the season.

Maybe we don't need another thing.

Maybe we need to walk through the leaves. Go to the football game. Drink the cider. Sit on the porch. Listen to the band. Watch the sunset come earlier. Let the woodsmoke find you.

Because perhaps the Happiness Hijackers' greatest trick isn't convincing us to want things we don't need. Maybe it's convincing us to buy things we could have simply experienced.

Fall was never something we had to purchase.

It was waiting for us outside.

What did fall mean to you before someone started selling it to you? 


Tuesday, September 15, 2026

Fairhope Ruined Me: Pennsylvania Did Not Get the Memo


I came home from five weeks in the Fairhope with an idea. I was going to bring a little Fairhope home with me. Not literally. I didn't steal the clock tower or stuff Mobile Bay into the trunk of my Lexus. I mean the spirit of it. Community. Friendliness. Going places just because something was happening. Talking to strangers. Participating in local life instead of sitting in my house watching other people participate in theirs on Bravo.
 
In Fairhope, I would walk into a shop and hear, "Welcome in!" People talked to me. I talked to them. There were free things happening. Music. Events. The bay. I went to yoga and met people. I wandered around town. I became the sort of woman who left her house recreationally. I liked her. She reminded me of younger, curious me.
 
So when I got back to Pennsylvania, I thought: I'm keeping this going. Fairhope isn't magic. Community exists everywhere. Maybe I'd simply stopped looking for it here.
 
This was a beautiful theory.
 
Pennsylvania immediately began gathering evidence for the prosecution.
 
First I tried getting a job at a local restaurant. Nothing major. Just something social. Get out among humanity. Make some money. (Because that Southern Book trip was costly!) Meet people. I applied. Apparently they only higher highschool kids. Yet they are constantly looking for help? Hmm. I see a solution to that problem. I guess they don’t?  
Fine. Onward.
 
I went to the local bakery. The general atmosphere involved children running around the bakery, while their parents ignored them. Which wasn't quite the quaint little cozy community business I'd pictured. Still, I persisted. Because New Fairhope Birdie was going to participate!
 
Then I saw that the local fire company was having a hoagie sale.
 
A FIRE COMPANY HOAGIE SALE.
 
This was it. If anything screamed small-town community, surely it was volunteer firefighters assembling sandwiches. I practically heard a banjo.
 
So I walked over. There were people inside talking among themselves. We are talking 15 people max. And it had been open for an hour. I approached with my cheerful new Southern-participation energy and asked, "So, how does this work?"
 
You would have thought I'd asked them to explain cryptocurrency.
 
They stopped talking. Looked at me. And seemed profoundly inconvenienced by the arrival of a person attempting to purchase one of the hoagies at their hoagie sale. Apparently I had interrupted the meeting portion of the hoagie sale by trying to buy a hoagie. And apparently, you couldn’t use a credit card. Cash or check. Sigh.
 
I walked away shaking my head and laughing.
 
At this point, I'm beginning to suspect Pennsylvania and I are participating in a sitcom neither of us pitched. I keep saying, "I'm going to bring a little Fairhope home!" And Pennsylvania keeps saying, "That's adorable."
 
The funny thing is, I want my theory about Fairhope to be wrong. I want to discover that I was merely intoxicated by my working vacation. That community was sitting right here all along and I'd simply forgotten to knock on its door.
 
So I knock.
 
The door opens approximately three inches.
 
"Can I help you?"
 
Yes. Hello. I'd like one community, please!
 
"We're out."
 
Of course you are.
 
Maybe that's the lesson. Maybe you can't bring a place home with you. You can bring home the dresses you wore there. The pictures. The books you bought. The Mule Mix. The ideas you had. You can put your papers back on your desk exactly where they belong and be enormously grateful to sleep in your own bed. But perhaps some places simply fit us better than others.
 
And maybe I didn't become friendlier or more adventurous in Fairhope. Maybe Fairhope just gave that part of me more opportunities to come outside and play.
 
I'm not giving up on Pennsylvania yet. I'll keep going to things. I'll keep saying hello. I'll keep attempting community.
 
But I'm proceeding cautiously.
 
Because if I see a sign tomorrow that says CHURCH PANCAKE BREAKFAST, I'm going.
 
And if someone gets annoyed because I ask where the syrup is, I'm putting the house on Zillow.