Why I Celebrate the End of Summer: A Chronic Illness Chef’s Love Letter to Fall

Labor Day weekend always brings this strange collective melancholy—like summer has slipped through our fingers and we’re all supposed to mourn it together. People act like it’s the end of joy itself, and I’m over here waving happily as the sun sets on another humid, crowded, sticky season.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I don’t hate summer. I just hate what comes with it. The attitudes. The entitlement. The people who cut in line at seaside towns like their wallet is a VIP pass to humanity. The endless complaining, rushing, and elbowing for space like we’re all fighting over the last square foot of sand on the beach. Exhausting.

And let’s be clear: I’m not built for heat. I grew up in the Caribbean, where “hot” was the baseline setting of life, and my body never got the memo that it was supposed to adapt. These lungs of mine (scarred and stitched up thanks to sarcoidosis and spontaneous collapses) don’t exactly throw a party when humidity joins the mix. So no, I will not be crying into my lemonade just because summer is packing up its beach umbrella.

Fall, on the other hand—oh, fall is my season. My love letter. My pumpkin-spiced soulmate.

The leaves ignite in a thousand shades of fire. The air cools, crisp and clean, almost like the Earth itself is taking a deep breath after summer’s chaos. Even the breeze feels like a hug. And the smells—fallen leaves, damp earth, maybe a neighbor sneaking in a wood fire. It’s like the planet is settling in for a nap, winding down after a wild party.

For me, fall is freedom. I can finally walk the beach without stepping on twelve towels and someone else’s sandcastle. I can go out without my heart working overtime to keep up with the heat. My lungs get a little break. And my soul? It unclenches.

So while the world laments the “unofficial end of summer,” I’ll be toasting the arrival of autumn. Tuesday comes, Labor Day fades, and I’m one happy chef, novelist, husband, and pet parent—breathing easier, moving slower, and savoring the season that feels like home.

What about you—are you a summer loyalist, or do you secretly breathe a sigh of relief when fall rolls in? Drop your thoughts in the comments, or hit subscribe so you don’t miss my next ramble (sarcasm included free of charge).