Starting Over, Slowly: On Fall Transitions, Discernment, and the Power of a Calm Morning

There’s a quote I come back to every year around this time. It’s from F. Scott Fitzgerald:

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

Something about that line always lands with me. Not just for the beauty of it, but because it speaks to something I’ve felt in my bones: the reminder that we’re allowed to begin again. That change doesn’t require a crisis or drama. Sometimes, it’s simply about becoming more intentional, more honest, about how we’re living our days.

And lately, as the leaves start to turn and the mornings begin to cool, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about discernment.

Where am I putting my time?

Where is my energy actually going?

What rhythms are supporting me, and which ones are quietly draining me?

These are the questions I’ve been asking lately; in my life, and inside Armonía Life Design as we continue to fine-tune the culture we’re creating here.

Because as much as this space is about supporting others through their transitions, it also invites us, as practitioners and people, to examine how we’re showing up. Not just in our work, but in our own lives.

Living in Harmony Doesn’t Happen By Accident

One of the most common things I hear from people (especially women) is how disconnected they feel from themselves. And it’s not for lack of effort. It’s usually because life is just so full.

We’re constantly responding, reacting, juggling, absorbing. And in the rush to be everything for everyone else, our own needs get pushed to the edge of the day or left out altogether.

I’ve felt that too.

And I’ve also felt what happens when I don’t protect space for myself.

The irritability. The exhaustion. The low-level resentment.

It’s subtle at first, but it builds.

That’s why one of the most radical things I’ve learned to do is start my mornings slowly and intentionally. Not just when I’m on Release Retreat. Not just when it’s convenient. But as a non-negotiable.

Because how we begin the day sets the tone for how we move through it.

And how we move through our days becomes how we live our lives.

What a Slow Morning Looks Like for Me

Let me be clear: a slow morning doesn’t mean it's unproductive. And it doesn’t mean three hours of spa-like silence (although wouldn’t that be lovely?).

For me, a slow morning means:

• Expressing gratitude. Every morning, sometimes even before I open my eyes, I quietly express gratitude for my good night's (most morning's) sleep, for awakening to a brand new day to start again.
  

• Pray. I like to say a little prayer asking for guidance for me to be my best self for everyone I come into contact with that day, especially my clients.  And to show up in love, support and encouragement.
  

• No phone first thing. I keep it out of the bedroom and wait at least 30–60 minutes before checking messages or email.
  

• Tea, light, a book, and breath. I sit quietly. Sometimes I light a candle. Sometimes I read something grounding. Sometimes I just breathe and listen.
  

• Movement. It might be gentle stretching. It might be stepping outside, even for two minutes. It could be a yoga class. Anything that connects me back to my body.
  

• A question. Lately, I ask myself: What’s one thing I need today? Not ten things. Just one. If I feel called then I answer it in my journal. Other days I just answer it in my mind.

These are not elaborate practices. They’re tiny rituals that signal to my nervous system: I’m safe, I’m home, I’m allowed to move at my own pace.

What Happens When I Don’t?

When I skip this,  when I reach for my phone first thing or rush out the door without checking in, I really feel it. Not just mentally, but physically. My breathing is more shallow. I’m less patient. I feel scattered, more likely to spiral into other people’s needs before I’ve grounded in my own.

And the ripple effect is real.

One rushed morning can lead to a disjointed day.

Several rushed days can lead to a week where I feel like I’m chasing everything and connected to nothing.

That’s not harmony. That’s survival.

And it’s not how I want to live.

Bookending Your Days Creates a Container

Over time, I’ve found that the best way to support myself, especially during seasons of transition, is to bookend my days with care. Morning and evening. A start and a close.

This doesn’t have to be complicated.

Evening bookends might look like:

• Turning off screens by a certain time

• Writing down what’s still on my mind

• Diffusing calming oils

• Reading something nourishing before bed

These moments create a gentle rhythm.

They give the body cues to shift gears.

And they help us stop carrying the weight of the day into tomorrow.

Fall Is Asking Us to Be More Discerning

This season isn’t just about pumpkin candles and cozy sweaters (though I love both). Fall is a call to examine.

What are you giving your time to?

Who or what is quietly draining your energy?

What do you need less of? More of?

Where have your own needs been placed on pause?

This is the time to clear out what’s no longer aligned.

Not to punish yourself, but to free yourself.

To create the space where something new, something nourishing, can begin again.

Life Starts All Over Again

As Fitzgerald said

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

So maybe this is your moment to start again. Not with a dramatic reinvention. But with small, sacred shifts.

Make your mornings five minutes slower.

Protect your energy more fiercely.

Trust that creating space for yourself is not selfish, it’s foundational.

Harmony doesn’t happen by chance.

It’s created through rhythm.

Through presence.

Through the quiet decision to care for yourself like someone worth protecting.

And you are.

Connect with Donna Marie or one of our wellness practitioners at Armonia Life Design today.