The slow magic of late summer.

August has always felt like the longest exhale of summer, golden evenings, and air heavy with pause.

But this August, more than the season, it was me who felt different. It was a month without routine for all of us, and while I find myself craving the structure of returning to one, I can’t ignore how quickly it all passed. One more summer that came and left in the blink of an eye.

I started the month with writing, something I came back to, something I had forgotten was a part of me. What began as an opening post about why Sundays are sacred quickly became more than a story. It became a rhythm, a soft landing for my thoughts, a way to ground myself each week, and a reminder that sharing pieces of myself is its own kind of return.

Midway through, I found myself reflecting on what it means to return to stillness. To strip away the noise, the pressure, the constant doing, and remember that becoming isn’t a race, but a slow unfolding. It was the reminder I didn’t know I needed before stepping on a plane.

Hawaii held the lesson in full: magic without the itinerary. Mornings without clocks, beaches without plans, letting one moment lead to another. It reminded me of who I was before everything needed to be scheduled, and who I still am when I let the tide set the pace.

And then, forty-two. A birthday that carried both weight and lightness. A reminder that I don’t have to arrive polished, that life is less about having it all figured out and more about staying open. I feel excited for this new chapter, to keep finding myself, to keep discovering what my path looks like, and to let it unfold one step at a time.

Looking back, August gave me more than I expected. A beginning. A reminder.

So as the month closes and September waits with its structure and shift, I want to carry this forward: the slowness, the clarity, the intention. This slow magic of late summer has its own way of preparing us for what’s next.

Here’s to what’s next, September. Bring it on.