Every year, there's a moment you start to notice it. The sunlight shifts, taking on a golden, more slanted quality. You find yourself closing the windows more often than you open them. The feeling of a warm cup of coffee in your hands becomes a small, profound comfort.
That's autumn, slipping in without fanfare. And suddenly, everything feels a little different.
As someone who lived for a long time in the eternal summer of tropical Singapore, I've become particularly attuned to the changing seasons in Paris. There's a beauty to it — the scarves, the earthy colours, even the dog fashion that emerges on the streets. But autumn also has a mood. It does something to us on a deeper level.
This isn't just a guide on how to survive the season, but how to work with its unique energy, embracing the melancholy, the coziness, and the quiet invitation to slow down.
On the one hand, autumn is a gorgeous, photogenic season. But on the other, it is a season of decline. The leaves fall, the daylight hours shrink, and the year begins to wrap up. That slow, gentle fade can affect your brain more than you realize. Less sunlight can lead to less serotonin. The colder weather changes your appetite and sleep patterns.
You might feel a little flatter, slower, or more nostalgic. This is not a pathology. It's being a human whose biology is responding to the world around them. For centuries, poets used autumn as a stand-in for endings. So if you feel a little sad, don't pathologize it. Acknowledge it. There is a beauty in melancholy, and this is the season to find it.
The best way to meet this seasonal shift is with rhythm. This isn't about forcing yourself into a strict new schedule, but about creating gentle, repeated structures that give shape to your days and offer comfort.
Think about your mornings. Instead of immediately reaching for your phone, could you create a small ritual? A slow cup of tea in a favourite mug, a short walk around the block, even the simple act of lighting a candle can be a way to say, "I'm here. The day has begun."
I have a small ritual myself: my wardrobe isn't very seasonal, but in autumn, I bring out my clothes in brown, earthy tones. Putting on a particular shirt is a simple thing, but it has an almost ceremonial feeling. My body is being reminded that we're transitioning, and that helps me adjust.
This is the season your body will ask for carbs, warmth, and comfort. That is not a weakness; it is biology. Your body is adapting. Instead of fighting it, you can work with it by making your meals intentional.
Autumn produce is glorious: squashes, pumpkins, Brussels sprouts, pears, leeks, and more. This is the perfect time to explore slow cooking. You spend a few minutes chopping, put everything in a slow cooker, and for the next six hours, your home will smell amazing. The result is a deeply flavourful, nourishing meal — or, if you cook at my scale, ten amazing meals. It's a low-effort, high-reward kind of cooking that feels perfectly aligned with the season's energy.
A quick note on health: remember to stay hydrated, as it's easy to forget when the weather is cooler. Also, with less sun, you'll be getting less Vitamin D. It's always wise to speak with a doctor and get a blood test to see if supplements are right for you.
Let's be honest: autumn can stir up old patterns. It gets darker earlier, you go out less, and you're indoors more. If you have a tricky relationship with certain substances, eating habits, or compulsive behaviors like scrolling, this season can dial them up.
This isn't because you're failing, but because the environmental conditions are right for it. I find it helpful to simply notice these urges in myself without judgment. Ask yourself: am I having this extra glass of wine because I truly want it, or because the night feels long and empty? Being aware of the impulse can be enough to shift that energy toward something that serves you better.
The first autumn I was in Paris, I rediscovered the music of Leonard Cohen and the novels of Carson McCullers. Their work doesn't try to cheer you up; it does something better — it makes you feel seen.
Don't be afraid of the melancholy. Let it speak to you. This is a perfect time for journaling, for listening to reflective music, or for watching films that meet you in that quiet, bittersweet space. Just don't let it isolate you.
Finally, make an effort to honour the physical beauty of the season. I have a forest a ten-minute bike ride away, and while I always think I should go more often, autumn is the one time of year I actually do it, usually once a week. The golden light filtered through red leaves, the crunch under your feet — it's incredibly cinematic and grounding. I have a little ritual of bringing a few leaves home and placing them around my apartment as a small, daily reminder of the beauty outside.
Autumn isn't just about endings; it also has a "new year" energy as school and work calendars reset. You might feel a pull to set new goals. If you do, keep them light, doable, and meaningful.
But most of all, I invite you to think about this: What would it mean to meet this season with softness? Instead of resisting the slowdown, what if you welcomed it? You don't have to love autumn, but you can work with its rhythms. You can build rituals that bring you comfort. And you can let go of the things that no longer fit, just like the trees do.
Wishing you a peaceful and nourishing season ahead.
What happens when we step outside the culture we were raised in? Between Worlds: Reflections on Culture, Identity, and Living Abroad is a five-part series exploring how life abroad reshapes our sense of self, belonging, and how we relate to others.
If you've just returned from studying abroad, how are you? No, really. How are you doing?
What happens when we step outside the culture we were raised in? Between Worlds: Reflections on Culture, Identity, and Living Abroad is a five-part series exploring how life abroad reshapes our sense of self, belonging, and how we relate to others.