I never grew out of thinking September is the real start of the year. Not January. September.

Probably because of school. New notebook, new pens, that feeling of walking into something you haven't figured out yet.

I don't have a first day of school anymore, but I still do something similar every September. This year it happened because I found an old letter while going through a box I hadn't opened in years.

I think about the fall of 1998 a little when September comes around, how you keep writing to someone because you actually want to, not because you're supposed to. We kept writing.

That's most of what On My Mind and in My Heart is about, if I'm honest: deciding whether something is worth the effort of continuing. I wanted to write something closer to what actually happens to most of us.

What are you noticing this September?