September has a way of making life feel busy again.
After the looseness of summer – the longer evenings, the holidays, the days that seem to ask a little less of us –
September arrives carrying a different kind of energy. Calendars begin to fill. Routines return. Plans that were postponed until “after summer” suddenly need our attention. There is an almost invisible pressure to get organized, become productive, set new goals, and get life back on track
And perhaps there is nothing wrong with a little momentum.
But before we rush into it, there is something worth asking:
What if getting back on track also meant remembering what matters enough not to lose along the way?
This September, the Slow Mornings Club is returning to a small book with a very big heart: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince.
It is a story many of us first encountered as children – or at least assumed was meant for children. Yet reading The Little Prince as an adult feels entirely different. Beneath its planets, sunsets, roses, baobabs, kings, businessmen, and one very wise fox is a quiet examination of adulthood itself.
How easily we become preoccupied with numbers.
How quickly being busy begins to look like being important.
How often we stop noticing beautiful things because they have no obvious purpose.
How relationships become something we try to fit around everything else.
And how, somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we can become very good at managing life while becoming strangely disconnected from actually experiencing it.
That is what makes The Little Prince such a fitting book to carry into September.
Not because September needs to be slower.
But because we need to remember how to stay connected to ourselves even when life speeds up.
So before September gets too busy, pour something warm, find a quiet corner, and stay here for a little while.
Because The Little Prince may be a story about a boy travelling between tiny planets—but its most important lessons are about the life we’re living right here.
And some of them are things we may have forgotten.
Why The Little Prince Feels Different When You Read It as an Adult
One of the most beautiful things about The Little Prince is that the book seems to grow with its reader.
As children, we may see an adventure.
As adults, we begin to recognize ourselves.
The strange grown-ups the Little Prince encounters during his travels are exaggerated, but perhaps not as exaggerated as we’d like to believe.
There is the businessman endlessly counting stars because he believes owning more of them makes him important. There is the king obsessed with authority. There is the geographer who records the world without actually experiencing it.
They are busy.
They are serious.
They have things to accomplish.
And yet something essential seems to be missing.
Saint-Exupéry gently exposes one of adulthood’s strangest contradictions: we can become so occupied with building a life that we forget to be present for the life we’re building.
That idea sits beautifully beside the philosophy of slow living.
Slowing down doesn’t necessarily mean having an empty calendar, abandoning ambition, or spending every morning wrapped in a blanket with nowhere to be.
Sometimes slowing down is much smaller
It is drinking the coffee before checking the notifications.
Listening fully when someone you love is speaking.
Looking out of the window instead of automatically reaching for your phone.
Writing one honest page in your journal.
Reading a few pages slowly enough to let them stay with you.
It is allowing life to be experienced rather than constantly managed.
And perhaps that is the first lesson The Little Prince brings us this September.
Lesson One: Being Busy and Being Important Are Not the Same Thing
One of the most memorable adults the Little Prince meets is a businessman who spends his days counting stars.
He is extraordinarily busy.
So busy, in fact, that he barely has time for conversation.
To him, the stars are possessions to count, record, and accumulate. Their beauty seems almost irrelevant.
It is difficult not to recognize something of our modern lives in him.
We count too.
Emails answered. Tasks completed. Steps walked. Hours worked. Followers gained. Books read. Goals reached. Money earned. Days until the next milestone.
Numbers can be useful. Goals can be useful. Structure can be useful.
But The Little Prince asks us to notice what happens when measurement becomes more important than meaning.
A full day is not necessarily a meaningful day.
A productive morning is not necessarily a good morning.
And a life that looks impressive from the outside is not necessarily one that feels rich from within.
This is particularly worth remembering in September, when the energy of “getting back to it” can quietly turn into pressure to do more.
You don’t have to resist that energy completely.
Just don’t let it decide what makes your life valuable.
Slow Morning Journal Pause
Before moving on, sit with these questions:
• Where in my life have I started measuring something that I would rather simply experience?
• What makes a day feel meaningful to me, even when I haven’t accomplished very much?
• What am I currently giving my time to simply because it feels productive or expected?
You don’t need perfect answers. Notice what comes up.
Lesson Two: Slow Down Enough to Notice
The Little Prince notices things.
Sunsets. Flowers. Stars. Questions. Changes in someone’s voice. The peculiarities of every planet he visits.
His attention is part of what makes him different from the adults around him.
And attention may be one of the quietest forms of slow living.
We often imagine slowing down as something we need to do. A morning routine to create. A meditation practice to maintain. A particular lifestyle to achieve.
But sometimes slowing down begins with nothing more complicated than noticing what is already here.
The warmth of the first cup in your hands.
The sound of the house before everyone wakes.
The way September light has started to change.
The first cooler morning after weeks of summer heat.
The book waiting beside your bed.
Your own thoughts before the outside world starts telling you what to think about.
None of these things require more time.
They require more attention.
And there is an important difference.
Perhaps we don’t always need longer mornings.
Perhaps we need to become more present inside the mornings we already have.
Journal With This
• What have I been moving too quickly to notice lately?
Then look around you.
Write down five ordinary things you noticed this morning that you might normally have overlooked.
This is not about forcing gratitude. It is simply an exercise in attention.
Lesson Three: What We Give Our Time to Becomes Important
One of the most moving relationships in The Little Prince is between the Little Prince and his rose.
There are countless roses in the world. His rose isn’t objectively rarer, bigger, or more beautiful than every other rose.
And yet she matters enormously to him.
Why?
Because of the time, care, attention, worry, patience, and love he has given her.
This is one of the most beautiful life lessons from The Little Prince: meaning isn’t always something we discover. Sometimes it is something we create through attention.
Think about the things that matter most in your own life.
Friendships become meaningful because we keep showing up.
Homes become ours because of the small rituals lived inside them.
Books become beloved because they meet us at particular moments.
A morning practice becomes grounding because we return to it again and again.
Even our relationship with ourselves changes according to the attention we give it.
This is why a slow morning doesn’t need to be elaborate.
Ten quiet minutes that you protect every day can become more meaningful than an occasional two-hour morning routine you struggle to maintain.
What matters is not always how much time we have.
Sometimes it is how deliberately we give it.
A Question for Your Journal
• What in my life has become meaningful because I have given it my time?
And perhaps more importantly:
• What would I like to make more meaningful by giving it more of my attention this season?
Lesson Four: Rituals Make Ordinary Life Feel Meaningful
The fox introduces one of the ideas in The Little Prince that feels especially at home in the Slow Mornings Club: ritual.
There is something different about knowing that a partic ular moment is coming.
A familiar cup of coffee.
The chair where you journal.
Opening the curtains before anyone else wakes.
Reading before looking at your phone.
Lighting a candle when the morning is dark.
Walking the same quiet route.
None of these things are extraordinary.
That is precisely why they matter.
Ritual takes something ordinary and gives it attention.
And as September brings more structure back into our days, perhaps we can choose not only the obligations that return -but the rituals we want to return to as well.
A routine asks:
What needs to get done?
A ritual asks:
How do I want this part of my life to feel?
Your slow morning can contain both.
Maybe you still need to leave home at 7:30.
Maybe lunches need packing, emails need answering, trains need catching, children need waking, or work starts early.
Slow living doesn’t require pretending those realities don’t exist.
It asks whether somewhere inside them, you can create one small moment that belongs to you.
Create Your September Ritual
Ask yourself:
What is one small morning ritual I want to return to this September?
Keep it simple enough that you can actually live it.
Five minutes with your journal.
A cup of tea without your phone.
Three deep breaths before getting out of bed.
Two pages of a book.
Standing by the window while the coffee brews.
A ritual doesn’t need to be impressive to become sacred.
Lesson Five: Not Everything Valuable Can Be Seen or Measured
Much of The Little Prince is a gentle argument against our obsession with what can be counted, owned, explained, or displayed.
Adults in the book want facts and figures.
How old is someone?
How much does something cost?
How many?
How big?
How important?
But the things that actually shape the Little Prince’s world – friendship, longing, responsibility, love, wonder – cannot be measured so neatly.
Neither can many of the things that make our own lives meaningful.
How do you measure the comfort of feeling understood?
The peace of a quiet morning?
The moment you realize you’ve finally forgiven yourself for something?
The feeling of being completely present with someone you love?
The confidence that grows quietly after months of keeping promises to yourself?
There are forms of progress that never appear on a checklist.
September often encourages visible progress.
New schedules. New projects. New goals. New habits.
Perhaps we can leave room for invisible progress too.
Becoming calmer.
Listening more carefully.
Trusting yourself.
Being less reactive.
Resting without immediately feeling guilty.
Learning what you actually need.
These things count.
Even when they cannot be counted.
A September Reflection
Write about this:
In what ways have I grown that no one else can easily see?
Then:
What kind of inner growth would I like to nurture this autumn?
Lesson Six: Growing Up Doesn't Have to Mean Losing Your Sense of Wonder
There is a tenderness running through The Little Prince about the difference between children and grown-ups.
Children imagine.
They ask questions.
They notice strange things.
They don’t always need something to be useful before they find it interesting.
Adults, meanwhile, become practical.
And practicality is necessary.
But perhaps adulthood becomes unnecessarily heavy when practicality is the only language we’re willing to speak.
Wonder doesn’t require us to become childish.
It asks us to remain curious.
Read something simply because it fascinates you.
Take a different road home.
Watch the sunrise even though you’ve seen hundreds before.
Buy the flowers.
Learn the thing you’ve always wondered about.
Look at the moon.
Sit somewhere beautiful without turning it into content.
Ask questions you don’t already know the answers to.
One of the quieter gifts of slowing down is that curiosity begins to return.
When every spare moment isn’t immediately filled, the mind has space to wander again.
And wandering is not always wasted time.
Lesson Seven: The People We Love Need Our Presence More Than Our Efficiency
The fox teaches the Little Prince about connection, patience, and the gradual process through which another being becomes special to us.
Real connection takes time.
There is no productivity hack for intimacy.
No shortcut for trust.
No way to become deeply known without allowing ourselves to be present long enough for someone to know us.
And perhaps this is one of the lessons from The Little Prince that matters most in a busy life.
When schedules fill, relationships can easily receive whatever is left over.
We answer while doing something else.
We listen while looking at a screen.
We tell ourselves we’ll call when things calm down.
We postpone the coffee, the walk, the conversation.
But life has an uncomfortable habit of continuing to be busy.
There will always be another task.
Another notification.
Another September.
Attention, however, is finite.
Where we place it matters.
Lesson Eight: Slowing Down Helps Us Remember What Really Matters
Maybe this is where all the other lessons lead.
Slowing down isn’t the destination.
Remembering is.
Remembering that our worth isn’t determined by how much we accomplish.
Remembering that attention creates meaning.
Remembering that rituals can anchor us.
Remembering that people need presence.
Remembering that ordinary things can still astonish us.
Remembering that not every valuable part of our lives can be measured.
And remembering ourselves underneath all the roles, expectations, responsibilities, and noise.
This is why The Little Prince belongs so naturally beside the philosophy of slow living.
The book doesn’t tell us to abandon adulthood.
It reminds us not to let adulthood take everything.
We can be responsible and still curious.
Ambitious and still present.
Disciplined and still gentle.
Busy and still connected.
We can move forward without rushing past our own lives.
That is the kind of slowness we’re interested in here.
Not standing still.
Being present enough to know where we’re going – and what we refuse to leave behind on the way there.
Journaling Prompts Inspired by The Little Prince
If you’re reading The Little Prince with us this September, you might want to keep your journal nearby. Rather than answering these all at once, choose one on a quiet morning and see where it takes you.
• What feels truly important to me right now – and does the way I spend my time reflect that?
• Where has busyness become a habit rather than a necessity?
• What ordinary part of my life deserves more of my attention?
• What am I currently measuring when I would rather simply experience it?
• Which small rituals make me feel most like myself?
• What have I stopped noticing because it has become familiar?
• Where in my life am I craving more presence rather than more productivity?
• What has become meaningful to me because I have given it time and care?
• What invisible progress have I made this year?
• What did I find fascinating as a child?
• What would I like to become curious about again?
• Who deserves more of my undivided attention?
• What am I afraid I might lose if life becomes too busy?
• What would a slower September actually mean for me?
• As I enter a new season, what do I want to remember about what really matters?
Choose the question that makes you pause.
That is usually a good place to begin.
Read The Little Prince With Us This September
If you haven’t read The Little Prince before – or if it has been many years since you last opened its pages – September feels like a beautiful time to return to it.
Because the story may not have changed.
But you have.
Books meet us differently depending on the season of life in which we find them. A sentence we barely noticed years ago can suddenly mean something entirely different today.
So read this one slowly.
Notice which character feels strangely familiar.
Notice which lesson stays with you after you close the book.
And instead of only asking What does The Little Prince mean?, try asking:
What is this book making me notice about my own life?
Some books seem made for rushed reading.
Others invite you to make a cup of coffee, settle somewhere comfortable, and stay with their words for a while.
If The Little Prince leaves you wanting another thoughtful companion for your quiet mornings, we have gathered more books that encourage reflection, presence, mindfulness, and a slower way of moving through life.
Save the list for the next time you are looking for something meaningful to place beside your morning coffee.
A Soft Note to Carry With You
September doesn’t have to become another race toward a better version of yourself.
You don’t need to come back from summer completely renewed, perfectly organized, or suddenly more productive.
Perhaps you can simply return a little more awake.
Notice things.
Give your time carefully.
Protect the rituals that make ordinary days feel meaningful.
Stay curious.
Give the people you love your attention.
And don’t confuse a full calendar with a full life.
There will still be busy mornings.
There will still be rushed mornings.
There will be mornings when the coffee is swallowed standing up and the journal remains closed.
A slow life isn’t undone by any of them.
You can always return – to the next breath, the next page, the next quiet cup, the next moment in which you choose to actually be where you are.
So before September gets busy, carry one question with you:
When everything begins asking for my attention again, what do I want to remember is truly worthy of it?
