And then, just as we get comfortable in our shorts and flip-flops, we feel it: a single, cooler breeze in the early morning. The sun setting five minutes earlier than last week. The sound of school buses groaning back to life.
That grief is normal. Summer is a romance, and its departure is a slow, beautiful breakup. But here is the secret that adults don't tell you when you are young: The coziness is coming. what comes after summer
September is the real New Year. January is cold, hungover, and miserable. September is crisp, caffeinated, and ambitious. It’s the season of new notebooks, sharp pencils, and the sudden urge to organize your pantry. After summer comes the pressure to be productive again—and honestly? It feels kind of good. Let’s not sugarcoat it: there is a melancholy here. And then, just as we get comfortable in
What really comes after summer isn't just "autumn." It is a hallway. A transition. A strange, liminal space that feels like neither an ending nor a beginning. That grief is normal
We spend all year waiting for it. The long, sun-drunk days. The late evenings on the patio. The vacations that feel like they might last forever.
After summer comes the permission to slow down internally. The social pressure to be outside, tan, and doing a thing evaporates.