Lingering in the In-Between: The End of Summer and Beginning of Fall

This stretch of time always feels like standing in two worlds at once. Summer isn’t quite gone, yet fall is already whispering its arrival. The evenings are cooler, but the afternoons still burn warm. The days are just a little shorter, but not short enough to notice unless you’re paying attention.

There’s a sweetness in these in-between moments. I find myself holding onto the ease of summer—long days, sun-warmed skin, the freedom of not watching the clock too closely. At the same time, I feel the quiet pull of autumn—an invitation to slow down, to gather in, to settle into rituals that anchor me.

Maybe that’s why this transition feels so bittersweet. It’s a reminder that life is always shifting, always asking us to hold on and let go at the same time. To savor the last golden evenings while making space for the comfort of what’s next: the layered sweaters, the scent of something spiced in the air, the stillness that fall carries with it.

I like to think of this season as a pause—a chance to breathe before the year rushes toward its end. To notice the light changing, to step outside in the evening and feel the cool breeze, to reflect on how quickly time moves and how beautiful it is when we actually stop to notice.

In many ways, I’m in my own in-between season. An inflection point. I don’t know what’s next, where I’ll live, or what my life will look like in a month- or even a few weeks. So much is up in the air, and while I crave certainty and a plan, all I seem to have is the unknown. Some days it feels deeply difficult. I wish summer could have lasted forever.

But even in the ache, I know my life is better now. Since my divorce, I’ve become someone entirely new. I used to live in fear—afraid to make a move or a decision, afraid of the cost. Now, it’s just me. And while that comes with its own uncertainties, it also comes with freedom. I’ve never felt more beautiful, more alive, more willing to take risks.

Yes, there’s pain I still carry. Yes, my heart gets bruised. Sometimes I look for comfort in fleeting moments or hopeful beginnings that don’t last. But at the end of the day, it’s me—and Josie—and this wide-open unknown. And while the uncertainty is uncomfortable, I am less afraid now. Less afraid to leap.

Maybe that’s the lesson of this in-between season: that beauty and fear, endings and beginnings, can live side by side. And that even when we don’t have all the answers, we can still keep moving forward, one golden evening at a time.