Summer Is My Hibernation Season: A Letter from My Desk

Hello, my Darlings!

It is officially August, and you know what that means: the countdown to autumn has begun.

Yes, I have a countdown for my favorite time of year.

It is my day off, and I am sitting here catching up on a few things. I am behind on several posts that I would like to share before the magical season of autumn returns to me.

Looking back at some of my recent posts, I noticed that I have been sharing the drink I am sipping while writing to you. Let’s keep the ritual going.

Unfortunately, I am not drinking my favorite London Fog today because I have been on the hunt for the perfect Earl Grey tea. Most of the teas I have purchased seem to taste different with every cup I make. One is more robust, while another lacks the flavor and aroma I am looking for.

I must admit, the search has been rather fun because it has officially turned into a London Fog tea tasting. It has also given me something small to enjoy while spending the summer at home and quietly preparing for autumn.

But I am rambling.

Today, I am drinking a warm cup of fenugreek tea without sugar. It has a lovely flavor and is a nice change from my usual cup.

For today’s Letter from My Desk, I would like to share a few thoughts about how I hibernate during the summer months.

I do not know about you, but I am the complete opposite of many of the people around me. As soon as we are about two weeks away from the beginning of spring, I start to dread the seasons ahead.

For as long as I can remember, I have felt out of sync with spring and summer.

While everyone else seems energized by longer days, vacations, social gatherings, and endless sunshine, I naturally begin to pull inward. Not in sadness or isolation, but in a way that feels deeply restorative.

If autumn and winter are my seasons of expansion, spring and summer are my seasons of retreat.

I have often wondered whether something was wrong with me.

The world celebrates the arrival of warmer weather as though it should bring automatic happiness. Social media fills with images of beach trips, rooftop dinners, picnics, and packed calendars. Yet every year, I crave slower mornings, quieter afternoons, and more time alone with my thoughts.

Over time, I have stopped trying to force myself into someone else’s seasonal rhythm.

Instead, I have started viewing spring and summer as my personal hibernation season.

That does not mean I spend the entire season indoors or avoid life altogether. It simply means I approach these months differently. Rather than filling every weekend with activities, I become more intentional about rest.

I read more books. I spend time at home. I work on creative projects. My journal has certainly been my companion over the past few weeks. I allow myself the space to move more slowly.

Ironically, this slower pace often helps me enjoy summer more.

I listen to jazz from my summer playlist and allow myself to simply exist in a world of my own. When I stop pressuring myself to become a completely different person during the warmer months, I begin to notice the small things I genuinely enjoy: fresh flowers on the kitchen table, early-morning walks before the heat settles in, a cold glass of sweet tea, an open balcony door, fresh fruit, and the quiet beauty of a summer thunderstorm.

I occasionally walk downtown after the crowds have thinned so I can move along the sidewalks without feeling hurried.

There are also times when I try to follow the rhythms of those around me, just to see whether I am missing something. Usually, I return home reassured that I am not missing anything meant for me.

I genuinely enjoy watching people who love the warmer months spend their days in the sunshine, gathering for picnics and playing in the parks. Their enjoyment does not have to become mine for me to appreciate it.

I have realized that having a good relationship with a season does not require loving it in the same way everyone else does.

Perhaps that is the lesson I am learning.

Loving spring and summer on my own terms means accepting that my energy naturally shifts throughout the year. It means honoring the seasons that invite me inward just as much as the seasons that call me outward.

Autumn will probably always be my favorite season. Winter will always feel like home. But instead of resisting spring and summer, I am learning to meet them where they are.

Not as someone else’s version of summer, but as my own.

And perhaps that is enough.