I am an Autumn.
I was born in October, so technically, I have been an Autumn since birth. But I don’t just like fall. I absolutely thrive in it.
There is something that happens to me when the calendar gets closer to October. My entire personality seems to shift. I go from being a grumpy, tired, indoors-loving ogre who spends the summer with her hair thrown back into whatever is coolest, wearing sloppy shorts and a tank top, walking barefoot around the house and drinking iced lattes, to a completely different human being.
Then comes the first hint of fall, and suddenly my entire outlook on life changes.
The windows open. The sweaters come out. The blankets begin migrating into all my favorite corners of the house. I stop refilling the ice cube tray quite as often.
Hot coffee in the morning and a soothing cup of hot tea in the evening suddenly sound like exactly what I need to survive another day.
And honestly?
I love everything about it.
I Was Born an Autumn
I love the smell of burning wood drifting through the neighborhood when people light their first fires of the season. I love watching the world outside transform as the bright blues, whites, and pinks of summer give way to deep reds, oranges, and fiery yellows.
And those colors?
Normally, they aren’t even my favorites. But when fall arrives, suddenly I’m looking at an orange tree like it personally performed a miracle.
Give me a crisp breeze, an open window, a warm blanket, a cup of coffee, and a slightly spooky book, and I am one very happy Autumn.
Maybe that’s why I feel so different when fall arrives. Summer seems to demand things from me.
Go outside.
Enjoy the sunshine.
Be productive.
Get some fresh air.
Fall doesn’t seem to care quite as much. Fall says, “Come inside. Put on a sweater. I’ll make some soup.”
Obviously, we understand each other.
My Home Gets a Seasonal Makeover
My house changes with the season, too.
Suddenly, I want everything to feel warm and cozy. The blankets come out. The candles get switched up. The coffee mugs somehow become more important. My reading spots become sacred territory.
I start thinking about soups, casseroles, and baked things, even though I am perfectly capable of eating the exact same foods I ate in July.
There is just something about fall that makes me want to slow down.
Maybe it’s the cooler temperatures. Maybe it’s the shorter days. Maybe it’s the fact that summer has finally stopped yelling at me to go outside.
Whatever it is, I welcome it.
Fall feels like permission to stay home.
It feels like permission to put on a sweater, grab a book, make something warm to drink, and settle into my favorite chair without feeling like I should be doing something else.
And maybe that’s one of the reasons I love this season so much.
It makes ordinary things feel special. A mug of coffee becomes an event. A blanket becomes a necessity. Opening a window becomes one of the best parts of the day. And sitting quietly with a book suddenly feels like exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Of course, speaking of books…
My Fall Reading Personality Comes Out
Summer me wants sunshine, vacation vibes, and maybe a cute little romance.
Fall me?
Give me an old house. Give me a mysterious woman wandering around an abandoned property. Give me a creaky staircase, a family secret, and something that may or may not be haunting the attic.
Preferably with a cup of tea beside me.
I don’t know what happens to me when fall rolls around, but apparently my reading preferences suddenly develop a deep appreciation for ghosts. And honestly, I’m okay with it.
My light summer and beach reads slowly give way to haunted houses, mysterious old homes, family secrets, forgotten histories, and stories with just enough creepiness to make me want to curl up under a blanket.
Nothing too terrifying, of course.
I’m still trying to sleep at night.
But give me a slightly creepy house, a woman determined to uncover its secrets, and the possibility that something strange happened there fifty years ago?
I’m in. Preferably before dark – although if we’re being honest, that’s when the story gets interesting.
And apparently, my seasonal personality isn’t limited to my reading choices.
It has opinions about my wardrobe, too.
I love Fall fashions!
I go from, “What is the absolute minimum amount of clothing I can wear without getting arrested for indecent exposure?” to, “Look at me! I have layers!”
Sweaters.
Jeans.
Cozy socks.
Cardigans.
I love them all.
There is something incredibly satisfying about putting on a sweater and realizing you are actually comfortable. Even better, I can leave the house without immediately feeling like I’ve walked into a hair dryer. There is something wonderful about stepping outside on a crisp fall morning and realizing you actually need a jacket.
I will take that over sweating while standing perfectly still any day of the week.
And I love the little things that come with it.
The sound of leaves crunching under my feet. The first chilly morning. The smell of coffee drifting through the house. A blanket over my legs while I read (although, that’s me year round). The early evening darkness. A warm meal simmering in the kitchen. The anticipation of Halloween. The beautiful colors everywhere I look.
The feeling that the world itself has slowed down just a little.
Maybe that’s really what I love most.
Fall doesn’t seem to rush me.
And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized just how much I appreciate that.
The Little Things I Notice Now
Fall makes me nostalgic, too.
Maybe that’s part of getting older. Seasons seem to carry memories with them.
I think about my girls when they were little. Halloween costumes. School activities. Chilly mornings. Pumpkin patches. Trips to pick out Halloween candy. All those ordinary little moments that didn’t seem particularly important at the time.
Now those ordinary moments are some of the ones I remember most.
That’s the funny thing about life.
When we’re living through a moment, we don’t always know we’re creating a memory.
We think we’re just making breakfast, driving them to school, picking out Halloween costumes, taking pictures, and watching our kids run around the house. We don’t realize we’re creating memories. We just think we’re living an ordinary day.
Then suddenly, years have passed, and those ordinary moments are the ones we would give almost anything to experience one more time.
Maybe that’s another reason I love fall so much. It reminds me that life doesn’t have to be loud to be beautiful. Sometimes it’s a quiet morning, a warm mug, a good book, and a blanket. Sometimes it’s opening the windows and letting cool air move through the house. Sometimes it’s watching the trees change colors and realizing that change can actually be beautiful. Which, considering I’m approaching 58, is probably a lesson I should appreciate.
Because I am changing, too.
Getting Older Has Its Seasons
I’m not the woman I was in my twenties or thirties.
I’m not even the woman I was ten years ago.
And you know what?
That’s okay.
There are things about getting older that I don’t particularly love. My body has opinions now that it didn’t used to have. My metabolism apparently retired without telling me. My energy doesn’t always cooperate with my plans.
But there are also things I genuinely appreciate about being this age. I know myself a whole lot better than I used to. I know what I like, what I don’t like, what I’m willing to put up with, and what I absolutely am not. I know what matters to me now, and I’m finally getting better at letting the rest go. I’m also learning that changing doesn’t mean something is wrong with me. Maybe it just means I’m not supposed to stay exactly the same forever.
Maybe fall is a good reminder of that.
The trees don’t apologize for losing their leaves.
They don’t panic and say, “Oh no! I’m not green anymore!”
They simply change. They let go of what they don’t need and, eventually, they begin again.
There is something comforting about that.
We spend so much of our lives trying to hold on to who we used to be.
The younger version of ourselves.
The version with different dreams, different responsibilities, different energy, and probably a metabolism that didn’t require a committee meeting before agreeing to burn a calorie.
But maybe we’re not supposed to stay the same.
Maybe we’re supposed to have seasons, too.
Maybe some things are meant to fall away.
Maybe some things are meant to make room for something new.
And maybe getting older isn’t about becoming less of who we were.
Maybe it’s about becoming more comfortable with who we are now.
I don’t know.
I’m still figuring that part out.
But I do know that every year, when the temperatures drop and the leaves begin to change, something in me settles down.
I breathe a little deeper.
I slow down.
I notice things.
I open the windows.
I make coffee.
I pick up a book.
I pull a blanket over my legs.
And for a little while, everything feels exactly as it should.
Fall Me Has Arrived
So yes.
I am officially declaring myself an Autumn.
Not just because I was born in October.
Not just because I love sweaters, hot coffee, cozy blankets, open windows, changing leaves, and slightly creepy books.
But because something about this season feels like home.
Summer me can keep her iced latte and her air conditioning.
Fall me is here.
She’s wearing a sweater, carrying a hot cup of coffee, opening the windows, admiring the leaves, thinking about soup, and probably looking for her next haunted house to read about.
And she is very, very happy to be here.
