Question: "I’ve had a lovely summer and now I really don’t feel like going back to work and normal life. Every September, I struggle with the rentrée. Is there any way to make it easier?"
Kristina Chetcuti Registered Health Coach (UKIHCA) specialising in behaviour change and lifestyle medicine (ELMO), answers your lifestyle dilemmas.
Answer: I feel you. No matter how old we are, the dawn of September still carries that unmistakable ‘back-to-school’ feeling. That queasy feeling in the gut that all the fun is over and that we have to slouch back to the slog.
September is the hardest month of the year I find, even harder than January. We are trying to hang on to that summer feeling, but everything around us is telling us otherwise: we have used up our leave days; the sun is setting earlier; schools have started.
I spent July and August in my home country, which was, this year, as with every year, unbearably hot. My dog and I have to spend the afternoons glued to the fan, our hair blowing, our eyes narrowing and squinting against the blast.
The washing dries on the line before we have finished pegging it up. Annoying ants have decided to invade every corner, intent on storing every crumb of any sort. And yet, yet … I don’t want it to end.
Your question made me think about what it is about the summer break that we love so much. I suppose it gives us something that the rest of the year doesn't: long, unstructured days; the chance to be carefree and outdoors; meals that don't need much cooking… a sense of freedom, I guess?
And then comes the rentrée, and the thought bubble above our heads starts conjuring up visions of life paced to a robotic routine: sitting indoors under artificial light, staring at screens and rushing to meet deadlines. (Forgive me, I write in threes: I’ve been raised on The Economist)
Perhaps that's what we are really mourning when September arrives. Not necessarily the beach or the ice cream, but the loss of that certain freedom to let the day unfold spontaneously. And if you're feeling this way, you're certainly not alone.
Before, I used to be rather strict with myself: "Come on, Kris, summer is over, get on with it." These past couple of years, however, I've stopped telling myself that I should simply snap out of it. I have come to accept that the first week or two back can feel overwhelming. After all, I'm shifting my routines (from no routines), my sleep (past midnight, daily!) and eating patterns (eating till 23:30!), and even changing homes.
Moving from one way of living to another takes some adjustment. So now, in the manner of King Solomon, I tell myself: “It's all right. I'm entering a different season, and I need time to ease into it.” If music helps, a great soundtrack to this sentiment is Turn! Turn! Turn! by The Byrds.
The few days before closing the holidays chapter are probably the hardest. You either detach and are mentally already back in Brussels, or you’re feeling the wrench and putting enormous pressure on yourself to enjoy every last minute.
These days, I try and opt for more stillness: in my case, absorbing the blue skies, noticing the beauty of the dry Mediterranean countryside, eating the things I know I’ll miss (ġbejniet, bigilla, pastizzi). I don't try to persuade myself that leaving is fine, instead I try to just be in the moment.
Now I’m thinking that this end-of-summer melancholy can tell us something rather useful. It points towards the things we deeply value: belonging, carefreeness, nature. If leaving all of that feels difficult, it’s because it matters. In short, good news: we’re not robots.
Do not by any means try to erase the end-of-summer wistfulness. A meaningful life includes longing, attachment and sadness. Sometimes, the longing is simply the price of having experienced something wonderful.
What I find helps is asking myself what I can take with me from summer into autumn. So, in a sense, I bring a small piece of summer into September. This is what I’m carrying over this time: reading fiction and eating outside. Yes, I am aware that I have no garden or permanent blue skies in Brussels. But the tiny terrace will do, and slightly overcast will do as well. And yes, I have a pile of university textbooks looking reproachfully at me from the bedside table, but I can slot some fiction reading in at bedtime (recommendations further down).
I also thought about having something to look forward to that I didn't have time for in summer. With a much calmer social life than the Mediterranean summer, I can start enjoying date nights with my husband come autumn. So, please do have a ponder: which summer pleasures could survive your rentrée?
I’ll end on that note as I have a suitcase to pack and a flight to Brussels to catch. I’m leaving summer behind, but I’ll take the fiction, the outdoor dinners and the date nights with me. The ants, thankfully, can stay behind.
Books to read so that it still feels like summer:
- The Correspondent by Virginia Evans
- The Midnight Train by Matt Haig
- The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa
- We all want impossible things by Catherine Newman
- Around the Table: 52 Essays on Food and Life by Diana Henry
