Back to School. Back to Work. Back to Life.

There’s something about September.

Even decades after we stop buying new notebooks and sharpening pencils, the end of summer can carry the unmistakable feeling of a new beginning.

Vacations wind down. Calendars fill. Classes resume. Projects that were happily postponed until “after Labor Day” begin asking for our attention.

Back to school. Back to work. Back to business.

I really love this energy.

Even though I lament the end of the season of whimsy and delight, there is something satisfying about buckling in and getting down to work. There is a satisfaction to the return of rhythm and routine, and the renewed desire to fulfill our purpose, hopefully in service of something larger than ourselves. September can feel like an invitation to recommit.

But I do wonder if, in our enthusiasm to get back to business, we need to remember to come back to something else, too:

Ourselves.

Back to ourselves

Our culture is remarkably good at teaching us how to become productive.

And lately, it seems, productivity isn’t enough. We are encouraged to optimize.

Optimize your morning. Your workout. Your sleep. Your nutrition. Your business. Your relationship. Your vacation. Your spiritual practice. Maximize your reach, your engagement, your productivity, your potential.

Even our pleasures can begin to feel like projects.

Social media adds another layer. Experiences become images; images become content; content becomes something we can measure. How many people saw it? Liked it? Shared it? How well did it perform?

I’m not opposed to this, exactly. I use these platforms and appreciate the astonishing ways they allow us to find one another, share ideas and create community.

But I wonder what happens when we become so interested in maximizing an experience that we forget to enjoy it.

I know this impulse firsthand. I can watch a spectacular sunset and some little part of my brain is already wondering whether I should photograph it. Post it. Share it. Make something of it. And suddenly I am one step removed from the very thing I was trying to appreciate.

A sunset doesn’t need to perform well.

Neither does a walk, a meal, a conversation, a yoga practice—or a life.

Some things are valuable simply because we were there to experience them.

We know how to make the list, answer the email, fill the calendar, meet the deadline, set the goal, measure the outcome and move immediately toward whatever comes next.

It is entirely possible to become extraordinarily efficient at managing a life while becoming increasingly absent from the experience of living it.

And perhaps this is one reason I continue to find yoga and meditation so essential.

They interrupt that momentum.

For a little while, there is nowhere else to get to.

We move. We breathe. We feel.

We notice sensation before deciding what it means. We discover the quality of our energy, the rhythm of our breath, the condition of our heart. We become curious about what is actually happening rather than immediately comparing this moment to our ideas about how it should be happening.

We come back to our senses.

We come back to the body.

We come back to life.

Returning is a practice

Of course, we leave again.

I do.

We become busy. Distracted. Worried. Ambitious. Overwhelmed. We get pulled into our responsibilities and our screens and our plans for tomorrow. Sometimes we realize we've spent an entire day attending to our lives without actually feeling particularly present for them.

This isn't a failure of practice.

Returning IS the practice.

Maybe that's one of the things September can teach us.

A new season doesn't require a new self.

You don't have to reinvent yourself. You don't have to erase whatever happened—or didn't happen—this summer. You don't need a pristine notebook and an elaborate new system for becoming the person you think you ought to be.

You can simply return.

To the mat.

To the walk.

To preparing food that nourishes you.

To the friend you've been meaning to call.

To the project that still matters.

To the quiet.

To your body.

To yourself.

You don't have to start over. You have to start again.

What are you coming back to?

So, as September invites us back into the rhythms of our lives, perhaps the question isn't who you intend to become.

What are you coming back to?