Be Here Now
There's always a rush to jump ahead. A case for savoring where you are before moving on.
It happens every year, somewhere around the middle of August. The stores fill with plastic skeletons and bags of candy corn. The coffee shops roll out the pumpkin spice. Your social media feed starts looking like a mood board for October, all plaid and apple orchards and boots in fallen leaves.
And I get it. I really do. I love fall — the cozy sweaters, the warm spiced drinks, the sound of crunchy leaves underfoot, the feel of a crisp morning when you step outside and the air has finally changed. Fall is wonderful. Fall deserves to be celebrated.
But it's still August. And I think we owe summer a proper goodbye.
The habit of always being somewhere else
We do this with seasons, but we do it with everything. We rush through summer to get to fall. We rush through fall to get to the holidays. We spend November so focused on Christmas that Thanksgiving barely gets a moment. And then it's a January rush through the New Year and we can't wait until spring.
There's a restlessness in it — a sense that the next thing is always more exciting than the current thing. That the season ahead is somehow more worthy of our attention than the one we're standing in. But when we live that way, we don't actually experience any of it. We're always arriving somewhere we haven't quite gotten to yet.
The phrase "be where your feet are" has stayed with me for years. It sounds simple, almost too simple. But it's genuinely hard. Being present — really present, not just physically in a place but mentally and emotionally there too — takes practice. It takes a kind of deliberate slowing down that doesn't come naturally when the world is always pointing you toward what's next.
What's still here, if you look
Late summer has its own particular beauty, and it's different from the bright, exuberant beauty of June. It's softer. The light is different — golden earlier in the day, the shadows longer. The tomatoes are at their absolute peak. The peaches and plums and late-season berries are here for just a few more weeks before they're gone until next year.
Let's make the time for one more lake day. One more cookout where you eat outside until it gets dark. One more night under the stars. One more sweet treat made with fruit that's at it's best right now, in this window, before the season turns.
Some of these may take a little planning, but they don't need to be perfect or wait for a special occasion. They just require intention and showing up — actually showing up, not half-present while you're already mentally decorating for October.
The kitchen as a way back to now
One of the things I love about cooking with seasonal ingredients is that it forces presence. You can't make a peach galette in November. You can't get a truly ripe tomato in February, not one that tastes like anything. The ingredients themselves are a kind of clock — they tell you where you are in the year, and they ask you to pay attention.
So maybe that's the invitation. Go to the farmers market this weekend and buy whatever is at its peak right now. Bring it home and make something simple with it. Eat it outside if you can. Notice what it tastes like. Notice the light. Notice that it's still summer, and the end of summer is worth savoring.
Fall will come. The sweaters and the spiced drinks and the crunchy leaves will all be there waiting. But you can't go back to August once it's gone. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Savor summer before fall; fall before the holidays; the holidays before the new year. Soak it in, one day at a time. Enjoy wherever you are before you move on to the next thing. Notice the sights, the sounds, the smells, the feeling of right now before it's gone. It sounds obvious, but it's not easy. I need reminders often. This takes intention, mindfulness, appreciation. And it's worth it.
Be here now, where your feet are planted.