Running in flip-flops isn’t something I recommend, but on the last night of our family vacation, I did it anyway.
All week I’d been hoping to make it to an idyllic spot near our house to watch the sunset over the bay. But every evening, the timing collided with the chaos of the bedtime routine, and the sun was tucked in before my kids were.
On our final night, as the house finally quieted down, I looked outside and saw the sky glowing orange. Time was ticking. I knew I had 6 minutes until the official sunset time. So, still wearing my vacation uniform (bathing suit, cover-up, flip-flops), I sprinted down toward the water hoping I wasn't too late. I met with a few skeptical faces and raised eyebrows on the journey. I looked pretty absurd, admittedly. I smiled in reply and made it just in time to catch the last 30 seconds of the sun sinking into the water.
It was brief, but it was stunning. I took a picture, but as always, it couldn't capture the fullness of reality. As I stood there catching my breath, I thought about how we handle endings and how I almost missed that one. In the orange, I was staring down the end of a day, the end of a vacation, and the fast-approaching end of the best season (shamelessly biased, I know).
It would have been easy to stay inside and say, "It’s almost over anyway. Why waste the effort?" That was, in fact, my first instinct. It’s what many of us do so often in work and life. When we see the end of a season approaching, we write it off early. We abandon the present moment because we've already mentally moved on to what comes next. We call it before the scene actually ends.
Right now, in mid-August, I notice that exact script playing out across my coaching conversations. Whether I’m working with university professors preparing for a new semester or executives navigating nearly-empty nests as their kids pack up for college, people default to the same throwaway line: "Well, summer is basically over."
Our brains are built for efficiency—they naturally resist sitting in transitional spaces that demand extra mental bandwidth. To resolve that friction, the mind simply jumps to what’s next. We write off a fading sunset as already gone, late August as "basically fall," and Sunday evenings as "essentially Monday."
But the truth is that late August isn’t an awkward waiting room between summer and fall. It holds full, non-renewable weeks of your life.
Time is radically finite. Treating the present moment as a disposable stepping stone to the next month doesn't make you more prepared for the future—it just steals from the limited capacity you have today.
Catching those last 30 seconds of the sunset reminded me of a core principle I practice with my clients and myself: temporal presence. High-performing leadership isn't about rushing three weeks ahead of your life to brace for impact. It’s about building the internal capacity to give your complete focus, energy, and engagement to the season or moment you are actually in.
The first official day of fall isn't until September 22nd, my friends. We have more than four weeks of summer ahead. There is plenty of time to catch what's left of the light and fully be where we are.
When fall arrives, it will bring its own pace and purpose, and we'll dive fully into that season, too. But not before.
How to Practice Temporal Presence This Week
If you find yourself mentally rushing into September, try these 3 quick shifts to ground yourself:
- Park your future loops: If fall deadlines and Q4 priorities are pulling at your attention, write them down in a dedicated "Brain Dump" document. Getting them out of your head tells your brain the information is safe, freeing up mental real estate for today.
- Audit your ending language: Catch yourself when you say, "Well, August is essentially shot." Reframe it immediately: "It is mid-August. What is one high-value or high-joy thing I can focus on today?"
- Protect one quiet moment: Pick one non-negotiable moment today (a 10-minute walk, a quiet cup of coffee, or five unhurried minutes at the end of the workday) and be 100% present for it. Carve out your own version of the tail end of a sunset. No phone, no multi-tasking, no jumping ahead.
When you stop declaring endings too soon, you lower your baseline stress and reclaim your time and presence in the moment.
