The September Reset: A Personal Letter About Time, Seasons, and Second Chances

Hey friend,

I'm writing this on a crisp September morning, watching the light shift through my window in that particular way it only does at this time of year. There's something different about autumn light—softer, more golden, carrying whispers of change.

As I sit here with my coffee (yes, I've already switched to the warm mugs), I can't shake this feeling that we've been given a gift.

A second chance.

Everyone talks about January as the time for fresh starts. But honestly? January always felt forced to me—like trying to plant seeds in frozen ground just because the calendar said so.

September, though... September feels different.

Maybe it's because we're wired from childhood to see September as a beginning. Back to school, new teachers, fresh notebooks. Or maybe it's because nature herself is showing us how to let go gracefully while preparing for what's next.

I realized something profound this week: We have exactly 100 days left in this year.

100 days.

That's not just a number—it's a complete season. It's enough time to write a whole new chapter of your story, if you choose to.

Can I tell you something that's been on my mind?

I've been carrying around this invisible backpack filled with all the things I meant to do this year. Half-finished projects. Conversations I kept postponing. Dreams I filed under "someday" because the timing never felt quite right.

Maybe you know this weight I'm talking about?

It's not just about productivity or checking boxes. It's deeper than that. It's about the gap between who we intended to be this year and who we actually became. Between what we planned to create and what we actually brought into the world.

But here's what I've learned: that gap isn't a judgment—it's information.

Walking through my neighborhood yesterday, I noticed something beautiful. The trees aren't stressed about letting go of their leaves. They're not holding weekend planning sessions about "optimizing their seasonal transition strategy."

They just... release what no longer serves them and concentrate their energy on what matters for survival and future growth.

What if we could do the same?

What if, instead of berating ourselves for all the things we haven't finished, we could approach these final 100 days with the same graceful intention as an autumn tree?

This means asking yourself some brave questions:

What am I carrying that I'm ready to release? What deserves my energy for the remainder of this year? What seeds do I want to plant now for who I'm becoming?

I started doing something this week that's been surprisingly powerful. I call it "The Three Piles Method."

I went through everything on my plate—every project, commitment, half-finished idea—and sorted them into three piles:

Pile 1: Complete This Season
The things that truly matter and can realistically be finished beautifully in the next 100 days.

Pile 2: Plant Seeds For
The bigger visions that can't be completed this year, but where I can lay meaningful groundwork.

Pile 3: Consciously Release
The good ideas that just aren't right for this chapter of my life.

You know what happened? Immediate relief.

Not because I was doing less, but because I was being more intentional about what deserved my finite energy.

I want to give you something I wish someone had given me years ago: permission to not finish everything you started.

Permission to recognize that sometimes the most intelligent thing you can do is to consciously choose what not to pursue.

Permission to see these final 100 days not as a frantic sprint to catch up, but as a conscious curation of what deserves your attention.

You don't have to prove anything to anyone. You don't have to maximize every moment or optimize every decision.

You just have to show up with intention to the things that actually matter to you.

Let me get vulnerable with you for a moment.

This year has been... intense. Good intense, but intense nonetheless. I launched new projects, dove deep into work that matters to me, and said yes to opportunities I never expected.

But somewhere along the way, I realized I'd been running on momentum rather than intention. Doing things because they were in motion, not because they were moving me toward who I want to become.

So I'm using these 100 days for my own reset.

I'm choosing three big things to complete consciously. I'm planting seeds for two long-term visions. And yes, I'm releasing some projects that are perfectly good but just aren't right for this season of my life.

It feels both scary and liberating.

Since starting this autumn reset, I've been doing one simple thing each morning that's made all the difference.

Before checking my phone or diving into my day, I ask myself: "What would make today feel aligned with who I'm becoming?"

Not productive. Not optimized. Not impressive to anyone else.

Aligned.

Sometimes the answer is tackling a challenging project. Sometimes it's having a long-overdue conversation. Sometimes it's taking a walk and letting my mind wander.

But asking this question has helped me move from reactive mode to intentional mode. From being busy to being purposeful.

I'm not going to give you a complex system or a detailed plan. You have enough of those.

Instead, I want to offer you something simpler and more powerful: an invitation to trust your own wisdom about what matters.

These final 100 days are yours to shape. You can drift through them, or you can use them consciously to bridge the gap between where you are and where you want to be.

Here's all I'm suggesting:

Take some time this week—even just 30 minutes—to do your own version of the three piles exercise.

What deserves completion? What deserves to be planted as seeds? What are you ready to release?

Write it down. Make it real. Give yourself the gift of clarity about what actually matters to you.

Here's what I love most about autumn: it's proof that endings can be beautiful. That letting go can create space for new growth. That you don't have to wait for January 1st to give yourself permission to start fresh.

These 100 days aren't just the end of 2025—they're the beginning of everything you choose to create next.

The season of second chances has arrived.

What will you do with yours?

I'd love to hear what you discover as you sort through your own three piles. Hit reply and let me know what you're choosing to complete, plant, or release. These conversations remind me that we're all figuring this out together.

Until next time,
Your friend in the journey

P.S. If this reflection sparked something for you, consider sharing it with someone who might need their own September reset. Sometimes the most powerful changes start with a simple conversation about what we're ready to let go of and what we're ready to begin.

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