I realized tonight that I am really enjoying my first ever non-depressed fall. All my life, I've hated fall, because I hated being cold, and I hated the shorter days, and, most of all, because I knew my seasonal depression was coming and that there was nothing I could do about it. Mentally, I would prepare my defensive armor as best I could, as well as my hideouts, for when the armor failed. Even as I wrung every last possible drop of pleasure out of the last, lazy days of summer, part of me was already anxious, like the feeling I used to get on Sunday nights, watching The Simpsons and laughing with my friends but unable to banish the thought that I was going to have to go back to work the next morning. Tonight was the first time in my life I've ever found myself looking forward to the fall. Suddenly, I understand why autumn is so many people's favorite season. The darkness reasserts itself, the leaves start to fall, and one can't help turning inward a bit, to plan and think and organize. Instead of feeling sad about it, I find myself enjoying the slight melancholy in the shorter days. I understand now the difference between melancholy and depression, that it's possible to have that feeling I used to have only sporadically, that everything that's happening is natural and beautiful and that all the pieces fit together into a beautiful whole. Tonight I was listening to choral music on the radio, and it was sweet and sad, and it didn't make me depressed. Instead, it just made me thankful for the darkening sky, for the cooler temperatures I know are coming, and for the tempest of human emotions that makes all art forms possible.

I'm still not writing much, myself. I would be lying if I said that didn't ever worry me. However, it's kind of nice not to feel compelled to write songs, as though something horrible would happen to me if I didn't. Instead, it's just an option, one of many ways I can contribute to the world. It's my choice. Sometimes the sinister part of my brain tells me I'm finished and that I'll never write a song again, but that's nonsense. The way I feel tonight makes me realize that even more. It's a cliche that artists only write about pain and that happy people can't be artists, and it's also really easy to buy into that cliche. After all, that's how depressed artists make themselves feel better about how miserable they are all the time. But the melancholy I feel tonight puts me in an artistic, thoughtful frame of mind without the accompanying panic of depression and anxiety, and I'm so, so grateful to be able to feel that. When I was young, old people would tell me that life just got better and better as you got older, but it was hard to believe them. We're surrounded by images of youth and beauty, not to mention people admonishing us for not using eye cream. It's nice to be so centered and peaceful and happy these days and to know that they were right.

One of the things that's keeping my heart so happy these days is my family. I got to spend Labor Day weekend with my mom, Lee and Tom, and little Ollie, and it meant a lot to me to have the opportunity to be among them for a few days. I love Atlanta, and I love the job, the friends, and the life I have here, but it does really suck sometimes to be so far away from my parents, my sister, and my nephew. My stepmother wrote me an e-mail recently to that effect, and it made me wistful. At least we try our best to make these opportunities for gathering, like the Smith family reunion in Mississippi and this recent Labor Day weekend, so we don't ever go too terribly long without seeing each other.

Ollie is amazing. Don't think I'm putting him above anyone else's child or anything because I'm not into that competitive vibe, but I really just think he's an amazing little guy. I love watching my sister with him, playing the same games with him that our mother used to play with us. I love watching him try to figure out how something works. I love hearing him talk, and it makes me feel like a member of a very exclusive club now that I can understand the subtle differences between the way he says, say, "juice" and "chair." Mostly, I love watching him grow into our family and become One Of Us - a reader of books, a singer of songs, a lover of laughter. I've never loved my family more than I do at this moment in time.

For your amusement, I present two photos, taken by noted photographer Derik Rinehart, titled Master Oliver Hilton Carter, Aged Eighteen Months, Eating An Apple, One and Two.

Ollie calls me ZeeZee, which is awesome. When I was in college, "Zee" (or just plain "Z") was my nickname, and I loved it. It was my favorite nickname that I've ever had, and I kind of miss being called that. It makes me so happy whenever one of my college friends starts off an e-mail with, "Hey, Zee." Now, I am well aware that the only reason Ollie calls me ZeeZee is that he is actually trying to pronounce "Lindsay." However, if we reinforce it... maybe take out a syllable at some point... yes? Yes??? Ah, well, I won't try too hard. These family names have to happen organically. Although, actually, maybe they don't. It was Lee and Tom's decision to shorten Oliver to Ollie, and my mother decided that Ollie was going to call her "MeMe" before he was even born. So surely I can be "Aunt Zee" if I want to be!

What’s in my stereo at home:

• "Orpheus" by David Sylvian

What’s in my car:

• WABE 90.1 (NPR)

What's playing at work:

• I made a playlist for my iPod that's all songs inspired by literature (I got the idea here)

What I'm reading:

• Grace (Eventually): Thoughts On Faith by Anne Lamott