We’re familiar with a season lasting for a few months, but there are so many more lengths to them — in large part because they can be related to anything.

I’m in the middle of a season right now where screenwriting and playwriting are a pretty big part of my life. I don’t know how long this season will last, but it’s going on three years now. I hope there are many, many more years to come.

Another season ended almost two weeks ago, and that was the season of our life that we spent with Maxine, our cat who passed away recently. The season we shared with her lasted 12 years.

A season for my hair is generally four weeks, at which point I drag my body back to the salon chair like an addict looking for a fix. I get it with my new colors and monthly trim, then promptly leave looking forward to the next appointment. Today marks the end of one season, and tomorrow marks the start of a new one. Good thing, too — my roots are looking pretty ripe up top.

Today, a different kind of season ended for me. It was (this time around) a six-year season spent at an ad agency where we did some awesome work, forged some great friendships, spent many-an-exhausted-day following many-a-late-night and got through it all together. I don’t think it’s hit me that I’m gone, despite the four boxes of office stuff that are sitting on my family room floor.

In looking through the things I kept and brought home, it’s amazing to me how many are my own personal effects that I’d decorated the office with, and how many are things related to other people — cards given to me, pictures, small gifts and souvenirs from photoshoots or TV shoots. I adore stars, so the three that were on my wall are now in a box, and the two that are tiny votive holders sitting proudly atop my filing cabinet are in there next to them. They looked so much better — happier — when they were elevated and up where they belong.

When you think of winter, spring, summer or fall in the context of a year, the need for — and the steady occurence of change — is communicated loud and clear. We expect it because we know about sunlight and the Earth’s axis and elliptical orbit. We know when to look for falling leaves, a gentle snow and spring’s blooms. But so often as we embark on a new season in our own lives, we may resist it, or just be caught off guard by it. We forget that a little change is necessary to get us to that next season. Sometimes you need to go through a winter so that you can realize what the spring and summer bring. That’s the joy of our own, personal seasons. They’re nothing like those neatly defined times within a year, because there are so many other influencing factors — the least of which is a season itself.

With the close of this season comes the beginning of another — a premiere, if you will. It starts Monday, and I can’t wait to get started. I’m ready for the role I’ve been cast in, and I hope my years of preparation will pay off. The lights will be bright, the audience will be watching intently, but such a premiere doesn’t come around every day — so let’s roll it and get this show on the road.

Tonight I am grateful for my last season and for everyone who I worked alongside with, tilling the soil and making great things grow. I am also thankful and beyond ecstatic for my season premiere and a new role coming on Monday. They say life isn’t a dress rehearsal, and they’re absolutely right. Let’s bring it — every day, like it could be our last day. It’s what a season premiere deserves.