Somewhere along the way, I realized that the new year doesn’t begin for me in January. The new and fresh has always come for me in the Fall. Ironically, as leaves are falling like rain, crunching beneath my feet with finality, I am vibrating with the excitement of birth and new beginnings.... My year begins in Autumn.

The passage redefines “new year” as an inner, experiential threshold rather than a fixed date. By juxtaposing falling leaves—symbols of ending, loss, and finality—with “birth and new beginnings,” Garmon highlights the paradox that renewal can arise precisely amid visible decay. Autumn becomes a season of chosen reorientation: a time to start again, set intentions, and feel energized even as nature appears to be shutting down. The quote also subtly critiques the arbitrariness of January’s cultural authority, suggesting that personal cycles (school years, creative seasons, emotional climates) can be more truthful than the calendar’s official one.