For eight years I taught high school culinary arts.
And apparently some habits never fully leave you.
No matter how much time passes, August still feels like a countdown.
This was my culinary classroom.
It looked almost exactly the same as it did 25 years earlier, when I sat there as a student.
When I was teaching, August had a distinct feel. Summer was winding down, a new school year was on the horizon, lesson plans needed writing, the classroom needed preparing, and there were a thousand little tasks I wanted finished before the first bell rang.
September felt like the finish line.
If I could get everything done before then, I believed I’d be ready.
I’m not a teacher anymore, but habits persist.
Every August a part of me still thinks,
By September I’ll be caught up.
By September I’ll be organized.
By September I’ll have better routines.
By September I’ll eat better and exercise consistently.
By September I’ll have work under control.
Essentially, by September I’ll finally have my act together.
My life does shift when the school year starts. My son is a teacher now, and during the school year I watch my grandson, Elliott, every other week.
Those weeks follow a different rhythm.
There are fewer uninterrupted work hours and more snacks. Toys clutter the floor, tiny shoes line the doorway, and a little person assumes whatever Grammy is doing is something he should be doing too.
I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Because I know this shift is coming, I keep looking at August the way I always have.
A deadline.
I tell myself I have this many weeks to get ahead, this many days to organize, this time to become the version of myself who is fully prepared for what’s next.
Lately, though, I’ve been asking myself a simple question:
Prepared for what?
At 50, I’m beginning to suspect there will never be a point where life pauses long enough for me to be completely ready. There will always be another recipe to try, another drawer to sort, another email to write, another load of laundry, another few pounds I’d like to lose, another habit to start, and always a slightly improved version of myself imagined just down the road.
Maybe that’s the mistake: treating September—or any future moment—as a finish line.
The truth is, I think I’ve been creating finish lines my whole life.
Not only on the calendar, but in how I approach my body, career, and home.
When I lose the weight I’ll buy the clothes.
When I feel better about myself I’ll take photos.
When I’m healthier I’ll enjoy things more.
In business I tell myself:
When I get caught up I’ll slow down.
When I have enough content I won’t worry about what others are doing.
When everything is organized, work will feel easy.
At home it’s the same pattern:
Once this room is finished…
Once that closet is cleared out…
Once I settle into a better routine…
Then I’ll relax. Then I’ll enjoy life. Then I’ll feel like I’m doing things right.
The problem with that “then” is it never stays in place. You reach one milestone and another finish line already appears on the horizon. I’m tired of living like that.
I don’t want to spend August waiting for September, this year waiting for next year, or this version of myself waiting for some future, perfected me to arrive and start enjoying life.
So this August I’m trying something different.
Instead of asking,
How much can I get done before September?
I’m asking,
What can I do now that would make life a little easier for September June?
The question may sound similar, but it feels very different.
September June doesn’t need a complete life overhaul. She doesn’t need every recipe photographed through the holidays, every closet perfectly arranged, or an impeccably planned routine handed to her on September 1.
She might appreciate a few dinners that are prepped, a couple of weeks’ worth of emails already written, some clothes that fit and feel good now, a morning routine simple enough to follow, and a little breathing room.
She doesn’t need August June to fix everything.
She just needs me to take care of her a little.
Perhaps the most compassionate thing I can do is trust her—trust that when September arrives, she will handle September, just as I’ve handled every other season before.
That trust means I don’t have to sacrifice August trying to prevent every possible hard day for her.
I still get to be present. There are warm summer evenings to savor, people I want to spend time with, recipes to enjoy making, places to visit, and a husband I love being with. There are children and grandchildren whose lives don’t pause while I try to figure everything out.
This is my life, too.
Not a warm-up. Not merely a before photo. Not a month to rush through until I become the person I imagine in September. This time matters.
Maybe this is what I’m finally learning about the finish lines I’ve created for myself: I can still set goals and pursue improvement. I can still aim to be healthier, grow my business, plan, organize, and prepare meals to make tomorrow easier.
I just don’t have to postpone today in order to do it.
When September arrives, I hope I’ve done a few things that make life easier for her. But I also hope September June can look back at August June and say,
I’m glad you didn’t spend the whole month getting ready for me.
I’m glad you lived there, too.
And maybe that will be enough.
Sweet wishes,
June