The nights are getting chilly, and I can’t help but feel a flutter of hope as I think of all the autumn joys coming our way. I love summer as much as the next gal, but there’s always been something so special about fall to me. Now’s the time of year I wait patiently as the summer sun fades and the crisp of autumn creeps in to replace it.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a strange time of year. The month of August, for me at least, feels like one big Sunday Scary. August brings a sense of anticipation for a brand new season. Brand new changes. August gives us no choice but to acknowledge the fleeting freedom of summer; it always seems to slip away in the warm breeze of August.

This time of year, I’m notoriously caught between longing for carefree summer days and barreling towards the autumn chill like a big pile of leaves. By early September, I usually find myself sipping a pumpkin latte and sweating through my cardigan. 

Do I jump the gun a little on fall festivities? You bet. Sometimes I set up my Halloween decorations in August. That may seem extreme to some. But the idea of celebrating things that spark joy? I hope we can all agree that’s worth pursuing any time of year. Even if it means adorning your home with tiny pumpkins, stringing up some cobwebs, and then heading to the beach to soak up what’s left of the sunshine. The little things that make our heart smile have no calendar.

It was 2020—a year of isolation and contemplation for me and many—when I adopted a new philosophy towards this strange season of in-between. I invite you to walk with me here when I say: August 31st is New Year’s Eve. 

Maybe it’s because 2020 turned our lives upside down. Maybe it’s because I was working an overnight shift for a few years. Either way, in my early twenties, I realized how much the concept of time is 1) a human construct and 2) absolute bullshit.

We spend our lives holding ourselves to lots of arbitrary timelines. Making deadlines for ourselves for no apparent reason. If you’re anything like me, you might even make yourself feel bad for being “behind.” But the fact of the matter is, if you boil it down, all we really need to do each day is…not die. If you adjust your expectations a little bit, and if you find yourself reading this, well. Congratulations! You’re doing a pretty great job. 

At risk of sounding too nihilistic, I’ll get to my overarching point when it comes to the concept of time. We don’t have to wait for a specific day on a calendar to restart. In that fateful year of very little time restraints, having nowhere to be and not much to do, I decided September 1st seemed like the perfect New Year’s Day for me. 

Think about it. Going from summer sun to fall foliage sure feels more transformative than trading some fading Christmas cheer for more winter blues in January. They don’t call it “summer vacation” for nothing, and there’s no “back to school” section at the store any other time of year. We’ve been conditioned to make the month of August a palace of preparation. So there’s no denying the fresh start that comes with September. The sun starts setting sooner. The leaves on the trees start dressing differently. Even if it doesn’t fully commit, the weather begins to change.

So. Having nothing better to do but think about things like this, I declared to my very small (but mighty) group of friends: Monday, August 31st was going to be New Year’s Eve that year. Those of us left in NYC after the pandemic were VERY MUCH over the concept of 2020 as a whole. Nobody argued with the unorthodox idea of saying goodbye to that year a little early. Naturally, I called it Stevers New Year’s Rockin’ Eve.

By that point, NYC seemingly had it’s shit together in terms of safety protocols. I set a cap of 10 guests who were taking the pandemic seriously and staying safe. Eager to leave the year behind, this blessed few gathered in my apartment to celebrate my made-up holiday. For the first time in what felt like ages, we were together again.

It was a black tie affair, but really just an excuse to get my favorite people together and eat snacks. I truly intended for this to be a silly night with friends who hadn’t seen each other since before the world went to shit. We’d made it through an unfathomably tough year. I didn’t want to wait until winter to celebrate that. 

Given my Midwestern heritage, I’m an excellent party planner. There’s nothing I love more than giving people an excuse to gather. Mix that sentiment with my natural tendency to drive myself insane wondering if everyone’s having the time of their lives…and you’ve got yourself a pretty fun party.

I can proudly admit the place was dressed to the nines. Gold and black streamers twisted their way from one side of my home to the other in a beautiful tangle. Plastic (but sparkly!) flutes filled the kitchen table, ready for a champagne toast. The glasses and the guests were both eager for a drink that night. All in good fun.

I’m not sure how or when, but my simple shindig quickly turned into an absolute rager.  Looking back now, I believe it was my big brother, Billy, who really got the party started. It’s all fun and games until Billy starts slinging Long Island iced teas from the kitchen counter. He happened to be in the city that week, and (as always) blew in like the feral, fun breath of fresh air that he is. 

Maybe it was all the pent-up emotion of the pandemic lockdown, too, and the catharsis of coming together after something like that. Whatever it was…it was legendary. We danced the night away. Laughed so loud I was quite nervous about getting a neighborly noise complaint. But most of all, we just existed in the joy of being together. 

What started out as a pretty obscure idea quickly turned into one of the most memorable nights of my young life. I still smile when I think about it, and get a little (extremely) emotional when I reminisce on the 10 of us pretending to ring in the new year that August. We pulled up some other, happier year’s countdown from Times Square. The clock crept closer to midnight. We huddled around the TV, and raised a toast to making it this far.

After midnight, I tucked a few of my dearest friends in for the night on the couch. It was awfully late to be riding the subway back home on a “holiday” after all. In the morning, I made chocolate chip pancakes. We lounged in our pajamas until the afternoon, laughing and reminiscing about bizarre happenings from our college years. It all felt really far away now. It had only been a year since graduation, but a lot had changed in that one year.

I get butterflies in my tummy when I think about how magical that night was. Sometimes the “party mom” but always the hostess, I mostly spent the evening frolicking around the apartment making my rounds. I transformed my bedroom into an introvert’s oasis. Twinkling tinsel draped over the doorway. Inside was a place to catch a quiet moment. For my guests, of course. But mostly for myself. A rainbow disco ball spun silently in one corner. My laptop playing a Twilight Zone marathon in the other. It really was New Year’s Eve!

In the months that followed, I smiled every time a new piece of confetti came out of hiding. That’s a lot of smiles. I mean, that shit was everywhere. It’s been years now since my make-believe bash, but I like to think the theme is timeless. You really can give yourself a fresh start whenever you damn please. 

For now, autumn awaits. As we head into this next season, I hope you’re able to find something out there to celebrate. If you can’t, that’s okay. You could always make something up. In my experience, that works just as well.