During these last days I do nothing but read editorials on September. All are dedicated to the return to routine, the holiday end, the end of the rest period … all with a bit of aftertaste and somewhat sorry for something that has been lost.
I read, then, an article in a women’s magazine (sorry, I do not remember which one) in which the author thought the same as me: that September is actually the beginning of the year.
In September everything starts, everything is new and everything changes. The month of January is just a mirror image of the previous month that only needs to change the number of the date. I am one of those who takes time to get used to it, and, as a child, my papers were full of erasures until mid-April.
– We are no longer in 87 but in 88!!! – the mate next to me told me.
The month of September is a great month full of expectations, premieres and firm promises to yourself (if they are done or not, that’s another story), it is a month of butterflies in my stomach, with a touch of vertigo and expectation to situations or challenges we will have to face.
So, like when I was a child, I take a glance with curiosity my brand new backpack to go back to my real life after a hiatus of rest.