My Very Odd Theory About August

Why the quietest month of the year might have the most to teach us.

Dear Reader,

I’d like to tell you something I’ve believed since I was a kid: that the months of the year resemble the days of the week. Before you start thinking, “Felice is off her rocker,” hear me out.

To me, August always felt like a Sunday because it seemed to come with an expiration date. The last stretch of freedom before alarm clocks, stuffy classrooms, and homemade lunches returned. Yes, our days were still spent at the beach, followed by long afternoons reading books, writing letters, or assembling jigsaw puzzles, but the conversations had started shifting to new clothes, notebooks, and school supplies. Don’t get me wrong, I loved new school supplies. It was the homework I could’ve done without.

So, if August is like a Sunday, it should come as no surprise that I look at September as a Monday, that first day back after a rest. Both Mondays and September are spent getting back into the groove of tackling goals.

By October, a Tuesday in my book, you’re no longer easing into the week, you’re in it, and the weekend is too far off to begin planning. So, you settle behind your desk and plunge ahead.

Which brings us to November. That month, along with everything up till and including March, is one long Wednesday, the stretch smack in the middle of the week when it’s dark by five, cold no matter how many layers you’re wearing, and each day is a countdown to spring.

April is a Thursday. You can finally spy the weekend, reminding you that fun and freedom will soon arrive. You come out of hibernation, your thoughts drifting towards warmer days, but beware, April can be cruel. One warm day, one cold, but you hang on because you’re almost there.

Then May. Oh, May! Like a Friday morning where hope and possibility seem within reach. Where five o’clock is in sight.

Which delivers us to June, the Friday evening of the year when your limbs relax into those ever-warming days.

We cruise into July, whose every day is a Saturday, filled with ice cream and loose sweatshirts worn on windy ferry rides back from Martha’s Vineyard, our fingers sticky from a piece of fudge that’s melting faster than we can eat it.

Which brings us back to August. For years, I resented this month. No holidays to celebrate, nothing but the quiet reminder that summer wouldn’t last. But as an adult, my stance has changed. I’ve come to love August.

Like a handwritten letter, August freezes a moment in time.

It’s that pause before life speeds up again and reminds us to linger a little longer. To watch the sunset for one more minute before rushing off to the next thing.

These days, my August mornings still begin with a bike ride and end with a paddleboard ride, but it’s the hours in between that have become my favorite. They’re made for letting my thoughts wander where they don’t have time to go the rest of the year. I write longer letters, sometimes while swinging on the hammock or sitting on a beach chair in the early evening, waves washing over my feet.

Maybe that’s what letters and August really have in common. Both slow down long enough to hold a moment still. That nothing planned doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. August no longer feels like the Sunday before school, but like the Sunday before whatever comes next.

The light has already begun to change and soon this summer will be over, but there are still 27 days left. Whatever hopes you had for this season, whatever letters you’ve wanted to write, now is the time.

With love (and a bite of fudge in my hand waiting to be devoured),

P.S. How do you look at August? Love it? Hate it? Any August rituals or goals on your horizon? Please share.

SONG OF THE WEEK

Dear August by Noah Cyrus and PJ Harding