Change is Hard. Period.

We have arrived. Here. At this all too familiar moment.

The sun is setting earlier.

The conversation is shifting from “How is your summer” to “How was your summer.”

Even the air is different. The subtle florals of summer are fading, giving way to the sweet, crisp scent of September.

Please don’t even get me started on the Halloween candy aisle at CVS, or the myriad pumpkin spice items popping up on menus around town.

I love Autumn. Really, I do!

But, when you wait for ten months to bask in the hazy, hot and humid glow of two, the swift passage of time feels like betrayal. 

And here's what I know for sure:

I’ll mourn for longer days and sultry nights.

I’ll pine for the sound of crickets floating through an open window.

I'll lament the plans that never materialized, and cling to the memories of ones that did.

And yes, I'm aware that the actual change of season is still several weeks off. But the cultural shift? It's in full swing.

Back-to-school this, fall fashion that, apple cider donuts and butternut squash risotto on the shelves at Trader Joe’s, and the aforementioned pumpkin spice latte at Dunkin' all point to the inevitability of summer’s end.

While I, and my recently-purchased, adorable Uniqlo cropped barn jacket, will unabashedly celebrate sweater weather, I still can’t help feeling, well, a little wistful right now.

Sigh…

Transitions are like that.

You know they’re out there. Lurking. Taunting. Offering brief glimpses of a future that awaits.

A cool spell in mid August. Dusk descending earlier and earlier. 

We do our best to ignore it. To avoid the flashing signs. We tell ourselves stories like “We’ll be complaining about the humidity again in a few days,” or “It’s still pretty light out for 7:30pm, isn't it?” all in a futile attempt to lull ourselves into a false sense of comfort.

Alas…

As sure as fall follows summer, we cannot stave off reality.

But just because we know change is inevitable doesn’t mean we can't bemoan it, right? 

Right?!

When it comes to consequential transitions like losing a job, sending a child to college, a death in the family, we’re more accepting of our big feelings.

They seem warranted. Understandable. Appropriate.

But in smaller moments, we readily poo-poo them – writing them off as silly, dramatic, overblown, or self-indulgent.

“Oh, get over yourself Carla,” I’ve said on more than one occasion, rationalizing that in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t that big of a deal.

With each dismissal, though, I wonder if I've unwittingly reinforced a belief that my feelings aren't valid. If I've robbed myself of some worthwhile reps navigating loss and change. Or if, by treating my emotions as an inconvenience instead of information, I've missed what these ordinary shifts could actually offer me: a powerful dress-rehearsals for when life really pulls the rug out from under me.

Because every time we choose self-compassion over ignoring our feelings, even for something as small as the end of summer, we're teaching ourselves something crucial: that we matter. That our feelings matter.

Every time we acknowledge and validate our experiences, we're giving ourselves a permission slip to hold our emotions, move with them and ultimately through them.

I know I'm feeling wistful right now because the end of summer means more structure, more to-dos, and more self-imposed metrics to meet.

As the temperatures dip and the light fades, it means fewer spontaneous evening walks.

It means the house will be quieter as the kids get back into their own rhythms and schedules.

That all makes sense. 

And, honestly? Putting it out there helps me create a little space to explore other possibilities.

Like, if structure, to-dos and self-imposed metrics are stressing me out, what are some ways I can honor that unstructured time I crave as we move into fall?

If it’s the freedom and spontaneity of last minute plans I’m grieving, what could I do to replicate that as the conditions outside change?

That’s the practice. 

It always is.

I started a list in my notes app last week called “Late Summer/Early Fall 2026.” It’s a running list of things I want to do. Some are super specific like getting tickets for the Tarot! exhibit at the Morgan Library and keeping up our visits to the Farmer's Market through the fall. Others are more conceptual like coffee dates at my kitchen table (an extension of my summer of lattes!) and random things I want to learn. 

It’s helping me focus on the small, simple, everyday opportunities that bring me joy, that I can look forward to and that will keep me anchored in the here and now.

Will I do them all? Not sure. But the promise of each is enough.

Oh, and I'm definitely adding One more trip to Stew Leonard’s for a soft serve cone dipped in strawberry shortcake crunchies to the list! (If you have a Stew's near you, do NOT sleep on those crunchies!) 

Even if your kids are grown and the back-to-school scramble is years behind you, I wonder if you ever really lose the gestalt of it. That distinct feeling of one chapter closing and another cracking open. New notebooks, new schedules, the sense that something is about to begin. It gets wired into us somewhere, and September keeps knocking on that door whether we have a kid to send off or not.

Maybe that's what's stirring for you right now, too?

Not literally back-to-school. But the return of "regular life" after a looser summer. The things you pushed off for a few months. A big decision. A conversation. A version of yourself that’s been waiting for you to pick them back up.

If a part of you keeps circling back to a transition you haven't quite named yet; a job that no longer fits; an identity you're outgrowing; a "someday" that's been someday for a while now, I'd love to help you sit with it. Not fix it. Not rush it. Just help you get honest about what you're actually navigating. 

No pressure. Just possibility. 

You know where to find me.