Two weeks have passed since the last time I had enough time to sit down and think. There’s no such thing as abandoning the summer’s pace; my mind just won’t slow down by itself; not by telling it to do so. As crazy as it sounds, I’ve been impatiently waiting for the colder, less sunny days to come. Waiting simply because I knew I couldn’t handle the summer craziness much longer, and the long dark evenings seemed the only antidote.

The autumn days… they don’t change anything at the first sight. Sure, the cold rain means no more summer clothes, no more light shoes – but there’s something deeper; something running in our minds independently of the normal train of thought. The autumn makes us all act different.

I never gave it much thought – at least not until my sister called me today. She mentioned how she just stocked up on food and coal – and how illogical it seemed to her. I could only sympathize, as I did the same this week – my fridge is full for the first time since the spring, and I bought a huge pile of warm blankets, pillows and tea mugs at IKEA just a few days ago.

Even when we don’t realize it, we’re preparing for the colder days.

PS. I mentioned the calendar thing at least twice. I honestly believe the Gregorian calendar we’re using is completely out of alignment with anything we live by; it’s moderately useful as a tool but irrelevant for us as humans.

I was born in July. All my life I found something strange about celebrating my birthday: it was hardly a celebration. It took me 26 years to realize it’s not a problem with me, but with the month. July combines several things that, together, are a disaster:

  • too much sun & heat
  • wild expectations
  • being tired; who isn’t in July?
  • even more expectations.

This, together, caused the experience to be miserable every single time. Every year I long towards the end of the summer more and more. Not for it to end – that would be foolish – but for the few days where you can already relax after that exhausting summer and the days are still warm enough that you can.

My year starts on September. It’s the moment I shed the summer skin, go back to what’s most important to me, when I regain control over my life after a period of craze. The year, viewed this way, starts with a calm, fruitful period, moves on to the Christmas time and winter, then the tiring and weird spring, and finally the hectic summer which feels like a wild party.

I could go on like this much longer. Instead, I’ll dust off my old trusty Kindle and try to find a good book on the subject.

PS. I promise not to get existential on my blog too often. ;)