Headline: Recess for the Soul
September says start fresh. Twain says take a nap. I say do both.
✏️ Back-to-School Energy (for Those of Us Long Past Recess)
September has arrived, dragging behind it the scent of sharpened pencils, the faint mildew of gym socks, and the everlasting terror of being called on when you haven’t the faintest idea what page the class is on. Children everywhere are marched back into classrooms with shiny shoes and sticky fingers, while we, the so-called adults, pretend that this has nothing to do with us. Nonsense. September is the true New Year, whether you’ve admitted it yet or not.
The evidence is everywhere: planners with pages so crisp they practically whimper when you bend them. Shelves at the store groaning with binders, sticky notes, and pens designed by engineers who should have gone into space exploration. Even the air has that fresh start tang, the smell of ambition mixed with pumpkin spice. And though we may no longer be issued math homework, life itself seems to say: “Well? Are you going to sharpen up and get moving, or just sit there like a broken protractor?”
The New Planner Effect
It begins innocently. You spot a notebook that promises you will finally become the kind of person who remembers to floss, return phone calls, and finish the novel that’s been simmering since the Bush administration. You buy it, of course, and for two glorious days you are the very image of productivity. You write down goals like “Drink more water” and “Organize linen closet.” By day three, the planner is already glaring at you with judgmental rectangles of emptiness.
But do not despair. A half-used planner is not a sign of moral weakness. It is a monument to our eternal hope that one day the right system will save us from ourselves. Besides, Mark Twain himself often worked in bursts of genius punctuated by long naps. If he had a planner, it likely contained entries such as: Tuesday: nap. Wednesday: consider writing. Thursday: nap again. Friday: mock politicians.
New Routines, Same Old Humans
Back-to-school energy isn’t just about stationery; it’s about rituals. Children pledge allegiance to the flag, adults pledge allegiance to their coffee mugs. Perhaps you declare that September is when you’ll rise at dawn for brisk walks, or start meditating with the serenity of a monk. Two weeks later you discover that monks don’t have Netflix, which explains their serenity.
The trick is not to scold yourself for failing to morph into a morning person overnight. Instead, embrace tiny rebellions. Add one new habit at a time. Stand up from your desk every hour. Replace one doomscroll with a poem. When you realize you’ve slipped, congratulate yourself for being human—then start again tomorrow. After all, schoolchildren get a fresh start every September. Why shouldn’t we?
The Great Myth of “Grown-Ups”
Children believe that adults have mastered life. Adults know the truth: we’re improvising. We trade the drama of playground kickball for the drama of choosing health insurance. The report cards have vanished, but the sense of being graded never quite leaves. The boss, the scale, the neighbors’ raised eyebrows—we’re all still waiting to be told if we measure up.
Here lies the gift of September. It whispers: Nobody’s keeping score as closely as you think. Start again, make a mess, and call it learning.
Recess for the Soul
Most importantly, don’t forget recess. Even adults need a break to fling themselves about and laugh until their stomachs hurt. Schedule your own recess—walk the dog, doodle nonsense, bake cookies for no reason at all. Life without recess is just detention with bills.
So here’s your homework, dear reader: find one small way to begin again this September. Buy that planner, even if it ends up as a coaster. Start that habit, even if it fizzles by Halloween. Laugh at your failures, celebrate your attempts, and for heaven’s sake, don’t let the world convince you you’re too old for fresh starts.
Because the truth is this: every September, the universe rings a big brass school bell and hollers, “Class is back in session.” We, the adults, are still the students—shuffling our feet, hiding our gum, and trying once again to learn how to live.
Julie Bolejack, MBA
