The Silence After Sunlight
A Soft Exhale And a Comforting Cake Recipe For Fall
I always take a deep breath when the Equinox passes and the first few days of fall begin to settle in. The warm days still hold their grip, the heat lingers—but something shifts. Fall is my favorite time of year. It’s the season where I truly feel like myself.
Summer always feels—though it pains me to say—like too much. Busy, full, hot. There’s this pressure to seize every moment, to squeeze life out of every sunlit hour just because the weather demands it. It’s exhausting.
Fall, and eventually winter, offer something different. A slower pace. A softer invitation inward. Living in the tropics, where the heat is relentless and unchanging, I’ve come to crave that shift. The crisp mornings in the little mountain town I love feel like seeing an old friend again—warm, comforting, and familiar.
Lately, I’m not sure if it’s the seasonal shift or the eclipse season just passed—but I’ve felt a strong pull to reassess. To edit. To pour more intentionally into the things/people and places that pour into me.
Today, I hung a clock in my kitchen.
Yes, a clock. One of those old-school ones—before phones took over everything. The simple act of putting it up sparked a wave of memories from my childhood home. It brought me back to a different pace, a different relationship with time.
I didn’t hang it for decoration. I did it because I’m craving better boundaries—especially with my phone, social media, and the constant pull of digital life. My next step is something similar for the bedroom.
Lately, I’ve started placing my phone in a drawer in the evenings. No more endless scrolling before bed. And in the mornings, instead of diving into emails or social feeds, I play soft piano music to gently ease myself into the day. These small changes have been subtle but deeply nourishing.
It’s funny how often we overlook micro habits when we’re trying to make lasting change. But for me, this fall is about those quiet, consistent shifts. I'm reworking my relationship with technology—not out of rebellion, but out of reverence. Reverence for presence. For rest. For real life, lived off-screen.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I use my time—how to create space for moments that feel calm and intentional instead of rushed or reactive. It’s those small pockets of quiet that have become so important to me this season. One way I’ve been settling into that slower rhythm is through simple rituals in the kitchen—nothing elaborate, just a little time set aside to nourish myself and savor the process.
One recipe I’ve been making a lot this season is a banana chai cake. It’s cozy, a little nostalgic, and full of the kind of flavor that makes you want to pause and savor. It’s not just a recipe I love—it’s one that holds meaning for me.
I recently shared it, along with a bit of my story—how I started my micro bakery and what inspires me to bake—with an online friend Danielle for her beautiful baking blog Coco et Sel . If you're curious, you can read the interview and get the full recipe here
I hope you find slow, intentional moments this season to lean into practices and rituals that feel grounding and fulfilling—like this banana chai cake. Thank you for journeying through these shifting seasons with me, for reading, and for supporting my work here on Substack. It means more than I can say as I continue to find my flow and share what matters most.
Wishing you a calm, cozy fall.