I sipped my oat milk pumpkin latte, my tastebuds confirming that a new season had finally arrived. Staring at the empty screen in front of me, I willed my creativity to resurface and coerced my brain to focus on the work I came to do. I half-heartedly typed a sentence before my thoughts drifted again, evaporating like the steam from my drink.
I’d brought my computer to the coffee shop for the afternoon, aching for a change of scenery after working from home all summer, locked in my bedroom while the kids fended for themselves mostly unsupervised. (Cue the mom-guilt.) Now, several days into the start of the school year, the empty house opened up space for me to notice the weariness I’d been pushing through for far too long.
I didn’t realize how tired I was until the noise quieted.
This seems to happen every summer: A lack of structure seems delightful for a while, until we fill our formless days to the brim and run ourselves ragged trying to fit a year’s worth of adventures into three months. By mid-August, I crave boundaries and rest with such desperation that the first week of school can’t come soon enough.
Sitting outside at the coffee shop with a gentle breeze caressing my shoulders, my fatigued body melted into the chair and my eyelids drooped, resisting my best efforts at productivity. While my mind wanted to work and push and move fast, my body needed to rest.
Breathing in deeply, I let my shoulders relax and exhaled slowly in a gentle surrender. Why am I so tired? The question came with more curiosity this time than the condemnation it used to carry. I sat still for a few moments before the awareness floated to the surface: Because I haven’t stopped in months.
Leaning back in my chair and sipping my coffee, I allowed myself a few quiet moments to sit in the stillness. I noticed my body, feeling the tension in my clenched muscles. Taking another deep breath, I became aware of a deeper ache—a sense of disappointment in myself for not being able to muster up enough energy to power through.
What am I expecting of myself? I wondered, in a growing effort to practice self-compassion instead of defaulting to judgement.
The insight came slowly, but the awareness melted away my frustration: I expected myself to make up for lost time. I’d hoped that as soon as school started, I’d finally have enough quiet to focus on all the projects I’d put on hold for months in order to be present as a mom.
I was trying to push through my exhaustion because I felt behind. But the reality hit me at the same time: I couldn’t move forward the way I wanted until I’d recovered a bit. I needed rest.
Starting with stillness
Every transition brings with it an invitation. Whether we’re entering a new season, a new job, a new town, or a new relationship—we get to choose how we want to move forward. Even if our circumstances aren’t changing by choice, we can still find ways to approach our days with greater clarity and purpose.
But how do we decide what we want the new season to look like? How do we know the best way to live when things around us are changing? What can we even control?
We start with stillness. When the winds of change make us feel like we’re getting tossed in the waves, we can offer ourselves a lifeboat by quieting ourselves long enough to find our bearings.
Transitioning well means taking the time to pause before we jump right into what’s next. Before we start packing or scheduling or cleaning or working, what if we forced ourselves to stop and breathe? What would we discover if we were to get quiet long enough to check in with ourselves about what we need?
In just a few quiet moments at the coffee shop, my mind meandered back through the past there months as I remembered the adventures we’d taken in the past season. We’d traveled and camped and celebrated birthdays—with few days at home to rest or recover. During the weeks we’d been home, my schedule had been packed with the clients I’d crammed into long coaching days in order to make room for all our travel. Remembering the reality of my pace helped me see: my tiredness made perfect sense.
Stillness gives our bodies, hearts, and minds space to settle. It allows us to look back and remember where we’ve been. It gives us space to rest and recover our energy for the work ahead. And it allows us to look ahead with clarity about how we want to move forward into what’s next.
In the midst of transitioning to a new season, making space for stillness and reflection feels like the most counterintuitive, unproductive thing we can do—but it’s actually the key to transitioning well.
As you make space for stillness as you begin a new season, here are a couple questions you can ask to help you reflect on where you’ve been:
- What brought you life or energy during the last season? What drained you?
- What was the impact on your body, mind, or emotions of the things you experienced in that season?
- What part of you needs attention before you move into the season ahead?
Stay tuned for more thoughts about “How to Transition Well into a New Season” in Part 2 coming soon! In the meantime, I’ve created this free Seasonal Reset Planner to help you look at the season ahead with greater intentionality.
