Somewhere around the first week of August, the mood shifts.
The emails get brisker. The mall windows fill with navy blazers. Instagram takes a hard left from beach reads to back-to-school bins. And just like that, we all start acting like summer is over. Finished. Gone. Like we’re late for something that hasn't even started yet.
It’s absurd, of course. Anyone who’s spent a full August in Canada knows this is when summer finally hits its stride. The water’s warm. The nights stretch long. The tomatoes are smug and perfect. But that doesn’t stop the cultural momentum from dragging us into September-mode, two weeks early, with an urgency that’s as fake as pumpkin spice in August.
We act like the clock is ticking. Like we need to get serious. Like we’re about to be evaluated.
By who, exactly?
The manufactured panic of a “new season”
There’s something deeply North American about needing each season to have a job. Summer is for fun (but not too much fun). Fall is for productivity. Winter is for endurance. Spring is for reinvention. And if you haven’t done all the right things in the right order, the year ends up feeling off. Like you failed some test you didn’t sign up for.
August is when that test starts whispering in your ear.
Shouldn’t you be doing more? Making the most of it? Prepping for Q4? Signing the kids up for Mandarin, coding, and fencing? Shouldn’t your pantry be alphabetized and your inbox at zero?
The pressure isn’t always loud. But it’s there. In the tone of every ad. In the urgency of every newsletter. In the quiet panic of every parent trying to book dentist appointments and squeeze in one last lake weekend before school starts. August is supposed to feel like a hammock. But too often, it feels like a deadline.
What if we just... didn’t?
What if, instead of bracing for impact, we gave August its due? Let it be what it actually is: the ripest, laziest, most golden month of the year.
What if we stopped trying to “use it wisely” and just used it?
What if we made lunch plans that ran too long? Or read three chapters in the middle of the afternoon with no guilt? Or took a Monday off—not to run errands, but to float in a lake, nowhere to be?
It sounds radical, I know. Leisure, for no reason.
But August isn’t an intermission. It’s a full month. Thirty-one days. And I, for one, am tired of watching it get eaten alive by September’s shadow.
My theory: the urgency is misdirected ambition
Here’s the thing. I get the impulse. I really do. The need to do something with time is deeply ingrained in many of us. Especially if you came up in a house where productivity was a virtue and sitting still was suspicious. Or if you’ve ever answered “how are you?” with a to-do list.
We feel the shift in light, and our instinct is to rally. Reset. Do a cleanse. Buy a whiteboard. Set some vague but noble goals like “focus” and “clarity.” And all of that is fine. But it misses the point.
Because August isn’t asking us to improve. It’s asking us to be here. To notice the way the air softens. The way the tomatoes smell. The way your skin feels when it’s been in the sun just long enough. August is trying to give us something. And we’re too busy prepping for the school year that hasn’t started to receive it.
A quiet rebellion
So this year, I’m doing August differently. I’m not planning a big reset. I’m not buying the notebooks early. I’m not reorganizing my closet, freezer, and life. I’m not even pretending I’ll keep up with Duolingo.
Instead, I’m letting August be a little blurry. A little barefoot. A little bit deliciously inefficient.
I’m not calling it self-care. I’m just calling it enough.
And if you’re feeling that creeping urge to “get your life together” before Labour Day—may I gently suggest... don’t.
Go outside. Read something slow. Call a friend and talk about absolutely nothing. Make toast for dinner. Remember that your life isn’t a school year. You don’t need to be ready for anything.
It’s still summer. Let it be.