How Do You Know When The Sun Should Set?

I think it's the equinox, or maybe it's tomorrow.  I'm bothered by the idea that we know there's going to be two days a year when day and night call a truce, and the sun and moon get equal air time, but the actual date of those two days changes.  It seems like if we can figure out how many minutes there are between sunrise and sunset and we can figure out which days will have the very specific number of minutes we're looking for, we should also be able to figure out how to make those days be the same every year.  Of course, it also seems to me that by this point in human history, we should have been able to figure out how to make an umbrella that reliably opens and closes and just simply will not turn inside out in a breeze, so maybe I don't qualify as a reliable judge of human scientific capacity.

Despite my frustrations with trying to figure out if spring and fall start on the 21st or the 22nd, and my absolute inability to disqualify the 23rd as a potential kick-off, I do find it comforting that our seasons have a clear and official beginning and end.  Nobody can ask annoying questions at the deadline, making everybody else stay late and shoot daggers with their eyes.  If anybody shows up before the actual start time, you can point to any calendar as a reason for them to go back out and wander the streets until you get the chips and dip set out and the ice in the bucket.  Seasons start and seasons end outside of the perennial meteorologists vs. astronomers feud, no one else can question those boundaries.

So why can't things that only involve humans have such easy beginnings and ends?  Granted, it can be charming to have beginning sneak up on you, letting your anticipation and curiosity linger until suddenly you realize that something new has begun when you weren't even looking.  Anticipation of the ends doesn't have quite the same appeal.  Anxiety about when the end will come and how and what will be the proximate cause is enough to not only dull your senses so you don't actually see that end until it has come and gone.  It can also make you miss out on the middle, those moments of stability that are comfortably buffered between the upheaval of change.

There are changes that I want to happen.  I know that I'll make them happen at some point, and I'm excited and apprehensive about the how of that transition, but mostly I'm nervous about whether I'll know the when.  Nobody wants to be the last people to arrive at or leave the party--except for maybe my parents--but I'm not entirely convinced I'll notice when and if I've overstayed my welcome.  Of course there's no way to know for sure, and I'm doing all the meditation, prayer, contemplation, and exploration I know how to do, just to keep my ears open in case the universe decides to send me a signal.  For now, though, I'll take advantage of what I do know to be true and switch out my whites for corduroys and pick up a gallon of apple cider, because IT'S FINALLY FALL!!!