Every October, I feel the shift.

The mornings are darker. The air changes. The days get shorter almost without us noticing. We start closing the windows, reaching for sweaters, making soup instead of salads and turning inward a little earlier in the evening.

I love this time of year.

But my body doesn’t always love the transition quite as much as I do.

I didn’t always notice it this way.

For years, we lived in Charleston, where there was more warmth and sunlight throughout the year. I don’t remember experiencing this same seasonal shift in my body there.

We eventually moved back to Virginia to care for our aging parents. And somewhere along the way, as I readjusted to four very distinct seasons, I began noticing a pattern.

Every fall, my body seems to notice the change before my mind does.

And even now, I have to remind myself of it.

It’s October. The light is changing. The temperature is changing. Your body is adjusting, too.

Living with an autoimmune disease has made me incredibly aware of the ways our bodies respond to things we don’t necessarily think about.

We tend to think of seasons as something happening outside of us.

The leaves change.
The temperature drops.
The light disappears earlier.

But we’re changing right along with it.

Our bodies are seasonal, too.

October changes more than the view outside the window.

We get less daylight. Temperatures can swing dramatically from morning to afternoon. We spend more time indoors. Cold and flu season begins creeping in. Our sleep patterns can shift. We may move less, get less sunlight and naturally start craving more rest.

All of those things require the body to adapt.

And when you live with an autoimmune condition, sometimes you feel that adaptation more.

For me, it can show up as fatigue. That familiar feeling that my battery isn’t holding quite the same charge. Sometimes old symptoms become a little louder. My body asks for more rest than my mind thinks I should need.

My first instinct can still be to wonder what’s wrong.

Then I remind myself: I’ve felt this shift before.

Sometimes my body is simply working harder to adjust.

Less light matters.

One of the biggest changes happening in October is something incredibly basic: sunlight.

Morning light helps set our circadian rhythm—the internal clock involved in sleep, hormones, energy and many other processes throughout the body.

As the days shorten, the timing and amount of light we’re exposed to changes. We may also spend considerably less time outdoors.

Vitamin D enters the conversation here too. Sunlight helps our bodies produce vitamin D, which plays an important role in normal immune function. But seasonal changes in how we feel can’t simply be blamed on vitamin D.

The relationship between sunlight, our internal clocks, sleep and the immune system is much more complicated than that.

Having lived somewhere with abundant sunshine and now somewhere with four very distinct seasons, I can’t help but notice the difference in my own body.

Maybe that’s why October catches me off guard.

I can know what’s happening intellectually and still wake up one morning wondering why I suddenly feel so tired.

Then comes everything else.

Fall also means more respiratory viruses circulating.

The air becomes cooler and drier. Indoor heat starts coming on. Our skin and mucous membranes can become drier. Sleep can change. We start spending more time inside.

And then there’s life.

Schedules fill up. The holidays start appearing on the calendar. There are things to do, people to care for, businesses to run, families to tend to.

Meanwhile, nature seems to be doing the exact opposite.

Slow down.
Get darker.
Rest.

There’s something worth noticing in that contradiction.

We expect ourselves to operate at exactly the same speed in July, October and January.

Our bodies may not agree.

A flare isn’t always a flare.

This is something I’ve had to learn through living with MS.

Feeling different doesn’t automatically mean my disease is progressing or that something new is happening.

Things like illness, temperature changes, exhaustion, dehydration, stress and poor sleep can temporarily make old MS symptoms more noticeable. The nervous system can simply have less reserve.

Learning that has changed the way I respond to my body.

I try to pay attention without immediately becoming afraid of what I’m feeling.

Of course, genuinely new or significantly worsening neurological symptoms deserve a conversation with your medical team. Listening to your body doesn’t mean ignoring something important.

It means learning its language.

This is my reminder, too.

I wish I could say that after all these years I immediately recognize what’s happening.

I don’t.

Every fall, I seem to have a moment when I wonder why I’m more tired. Why my body feels different. Why something that felt easy a month ago suddenly requires a little more from me.

And then I remember.

You’ve been here before.

The season changed.

Give your body a minute to catch up.

So I get outside in the morning.

I open the blinds and let the light in.

I walk.

I feed myself warming, nourishing food.

I protect my sleep.

I drink water.

And when my body tells me it needs more rest, I try to listen instead of arguing with it.

There’s something interesting about having moved home to care for our aging parents while, at the same time, learning how to care for myself through another season of my own life.

Maybe that’s part of what aging has taught me.

Pay attention to the patterns.

Know your body.

And don’t assume every difficult day means something is wrong.

The trees aren’t fighting to hold onto summer.

Maybe we don’t have to either.

There is a season for expanding and a season for coming inward. A season for long days and a season for earlier nights.

Our bodies are part of nature, too.

And perhaps one of the kindest things we can do as the season changes is allow ourselves to change with it.

— Natalie

I’ve always liked things with a little life in them.

My cupboards are filled with mismatched dishes. I have chipped plates I won’t part with, old furniture, worn wood, stacks of books and a kitchen that feels a little like your granny might have cooked in it.

I use the good stuff.

I don’t save the beautiful glasses for company or the fancy dishes for Thanksgiving. If I love something enough to have it, I want it to be part of my everyday life.

I also love beautiful things. I enjoy shopping. I’m not a minimalist and I’m not interested in becoming one.

But I’ve never really understood having more simply for the sake of having more.

And lately I’ve been thinking about how much our culture seems to be built around exactly that.

How much is enough?

There is always another thing waiting for us.

Another pair of shoes. Another bag. Another thing for the kitchen. A new sofa because apparently the shape of sofas has changed again. A new wardrobe because the things we bought two years ago aren’t quite right anymore.

We hunt. We find. We buy.

We get that little rush when we finally get the thing we’ve been looking for.

And then something interesting happens.

It becomes ours.

It goes into the closet or onto the shelf. The newness wears off. The little rush disappears.

And we begin looking for the next thing.

Of course I know that feeling. I love finding something beautiful as much as anyone.

But there is a difference between loving something and loving the feeling of getting something.

I think we’ve gotten very good at the second one.

What happened to keeping things?

I think about the furniture people used to keep.

A table stayed in a family long enough to collect scratches and water rings. Children ate at it. Then grandchildren did.

Furniture was refinished.

Shoes were resoled.

Things were mended.

A chipped dish wasn’t necessarily thrown away. Sometimes it simply became the dish you reached for every morning.

Things had time to become ours.

Now entire rooms are replaced because they’re no longer on trend. Furniture is made cheaply enough that sometimes replacing it makes more sense than repairing it. Closets overflow while somehow we still feel like we have nothing to wear.

And I wonder what we lose when everything becomes so easily replaceable.

Because when almost anything can be replaced tomorrow, it’s easy for everything to become a little less meaningful.

Enough isn’t an empty house

I want to be clear about something.

This isn’t minimalism.

You will not find an empty kitchen or perfectly edited closet at my house.

I like my things.

I like opening a cupboard and seeing dishes that don’t match. I like remembering where something came from. I like furniture that’s been around long enough to carry a story.

And when I buy something new that I truly love, I enjoy the hell out of it.

That’s part of enough, too.

Enough isn’t about denying ourselves pleasure.

It’s knowing the difference between something that adds to our life and simply adding another thing.

The less I have, the more creative I am

I’ve always noticed this about myself.

The less I have, the more creative I become.

Give me a refrigerator overflowing with groceries and there are almost too many possibilities.

Give me a few vegetables, good olive oil, a lemon and whatever happens to be in the pantry and I’ll figure something out.

It’s the same with clothes. Setting a table. Decorating a room.

When the answer isn’t automatically go get something else, you start seeing what’s already there differently.

You improvise.

You combine things you wouldn’t normally combine.

You make something work.

You create.

There is a kind of abundance in that which has nothing to do with having more.

More isn’t always more

I don’t believe wanting things is bad.

I don’t think shopping is bad.

And I certainly don’t think beautiful things are frivolous. Beauty matters to me. It always has.

I just think the things we bring into our lives should have the opportunity to become part of them.

Use them.

Wear them.

Repair them.

Take care of them.

Let the table get scratched. Let the linen soften from a hundred washings. Let the plate get chipped. Let something stay around long enough that one day your child says, I remember that.

Because perhaps the question isn’t really how little we can live with.

Maybe it’s whether we’re actually living with what we already have.

I’ve lived this way for as long as I can remember.

But in a world that seems increasingly determined to convince us that the next thing will be better than the thing we already have, it feels worth talking about.

So that’s what this next Journal series will be about.

Not having less for the sake of less.

Not minimalism.

Not rules about how many shoes we should own.

The Art of Enough is about allowing what we have to mean more.

Love + Be Well,
Natalie

I’m beginning to think that some of the best parts of our lives are the parts we barely notice.

The first sip of coffee while the house is still quiet.
The way the light moves across the kitchen floor.
A conversation with Mitch that starts out about nothing and somehow lasts twenty minutes.
Something simmering on the stove.
Walking into the garden and noticing something bloomed.
A familiar song coming on at exactly the right moment.

Nothing remarkable.

And yet, maybe everything.

We spend so much of our lives anticipating what comes next.

What needs to get done. Where we need to be. What we’re making for dinner. What we’re working toward. The next weekend, the next trip, the next season of our lives.

Even in a beautiful moment, our minds can already be somewhere else.

I catch myself doing it.

Drinking the coffee while thinking about work. Walking through the garden while making a list in my head. Sitting with someone I love while part of me is already thinking about what I need to do when I get up.

And lately I’ve been wondering:

What am I rushing toward?

Because this is it.

Not someday when everything is finished and the list is finally crossed off.

This ordinary Thursday.

The coffee.
The conversation.
The dinner we’ve made a hundred times.
The walk to the shop.
The sound of someone I love laughing from another room.

This is the life.

I don’t think being present means moving through life at some impossibly slow pace. We have businesses to run, people who need us, appointments to make and laundry that somehow keeps appearing.

Maybe presence is simply noticing while we’re here.

Looking at the person talking to us instead of reaching for our phone.

Sitting at the table for another five minutes.

Actually tasting what we cooked.

Opening the window because the air feels good.

Using the beautiful cup on an ordinary morning.

Letting a good moment be enough without needing to turn it into anything else.

There is so much emphasis on creating a beautiful life.

Maybe we already have one.

Maybe we just keep missing pieces of it because we’re looking ahead.

I want to get better at staying.

Staying in the conversation.
Staying at the table.
Staying in the garden a little longer.
Staying with the ordinary moment before reaching for the next one.

Because one day, I imagine, these will be the things we miss.

Not the things we rushed toward.

The little things we almost rushed past.

So today, I’m paying attention.

To what is already here.

Because perhaps a beautiful life isn’t made only from the big moments we remember.

It’s made from all the small ones we were present enough to notice.

-Natalie

There are certain dinners that taste like the season they belong to. This is one of them.

Roasting the butternut squash first brings out its natural sweetness and gives this sauce so much more depth. Shallot, garlic, red pepper and nutmeg make it savory, a little Dijon cuts through the sweetness, and goat cheese melts in for creaminess and just enough tang.

No heavy cream. No complicated cheese sauce. Just real ingredients blended into something ridiculously creamy.

And because this is From the Table, there’s always something in the bowl feeding your glow, too.

Ingredients

• 12 oz pasta
• 2 cups butternut squash, peeled + cubed
• 1–2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
• 1 shallot, finely chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• ½ tsp red pepper flakes, or to taste
• ¼ tsp ground nutmeg
• 1–1½ cups chicken or vegetable broth
• 2–3 oz goat cheese
• 1–2 tsp Dijon mustard
• 1 tbsp nutritional yeast
• Juice of ½ lemon
• 6–8 fresh sage leaves
• Sea salt
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• Reserved pasta water

From the Table

Heat oven to 425°F.

Toss the butternut squash with olive oil, sea salt and black pepper. Spread onto a baking sheet and roast for 25–30 minutes, until completely tender with caramelized edges.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta until just al dente. Before draining, reserve about 1 cup of the pasta water.

While the pasta cooks, warm a little olive oil in a skillet. Add the shallot and sauté until soft and beginning to caramelize. Add the garlic, red pepper flakes and nutmeg and cook for another 30–60 seconds, just until fragrant.

Add the roasted squash, sautéed shallot mixture and about 1 cup of broth to a blender. Blend until completely smooth and velvety.

Pour the sauce back into the skillet over low heat. Stir in the goat cheese, Dijon and nutritional yeast until everything melts together.

Add the cooked pasta and toss until coated, adding a splash of reserved pasta water as needed. You want the sauce silky and loose enough to settle into every little pocket of pasta.

For the sage, heat a small drizzle of olive oil in a skillet and add the leaves. Cook briefly until fragrant and crisp.

Finish the pasta with fresh lemon juice, lots of cracked black pepper and the crispy sage.

Serve immediately.

Feed Your Glow

Butternut squash brings beta-carotene, which the body converts to vitamin A—a nutrient important for normal skin-cell growth and maintenance. It also provides vitamin C, an essential nutrient for normal collagen production.

Extra virgin olive oil gives the dish monounsaturated fats and antioxidant plant compounds. Fat also helps your body absorb fat-soluble carotenoids from foods like squash.

Garlic + shallot add more than flavor. They contain sulfur compounds and antioxidant plant compounds, making them an easy way to layer more phytonutrients into an everyday meal.

Sage may only be the finishing touch, but herbs are one of our favorite ways to add flavor and plant compounds without needing much of anything else.

And the goat cheese? That one’s partly there because dinner should taste really good, too.

Easy Swaps

• No goat cheese? Try a little feta for a saltier finish, or leave the cheese out and add another spoonful of nutritional yeast.
• Gluten-free? Use your favorite gluten-free pasta.
• Want more protein? Add browned grass-fed ground beef, Italian chicken sausage or white beans.
• No nutritional yeast? Leave it out. The sauce will still be delicious.
• Want it dairy-free? Skip the goat cheese and increase the nutritional yeast slightly for extra savory depth.
• No fresh sage? Fresh thyme or rosemary works beautifully with roasted squash.
• More heat? Be generous with the red pepper flakes.
• Thicker sauce? Use less broth. Silkier sauce? Add pasta water a splash at a time.

FROM THE TABLE

Good food. Good skin. Same philosophy.

Feed your glow.

-Natalie

Warm pears, maple, vanilla + a little something creamy.

This is exactly the kind of dessert I love. Warm, cozy, not overly sweet, and made from ingredients that happen to give something back. The pears get soft and caramelized in the oven with butter, maple, brown sugar and vanilla, then I finish them with cold yogurt and toasted walnuts.

Dessert, yes. But very much a feed your glow kind of dessert.

Baked Cinnamon Pears

Serves 4

You’ll need:

• 4 ripe but still firm pears
• 2 tablespoons grass-fed butter, melted
• 2 tablespoons pure maple syrup
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• Pinch of sea salt
• Plain Greek yogurt, for serving
• Chopped walnuts, for serving
• Extra maple syrup, optional

Heat the oven to 375°F.

Cut the pears in half and scoop out the cores. Arrange them cut-side up in a baking dish.

Mix the melted butter, maple syrup, brown sugar, vanilla, cinnamon and sea salt. Spoon it generously over the pears, letting some settle into the centers.

Bake for 25–35 minutes, depending on the ripeness of your pears, spooning some of the buttery maple juices over them once or twice while they bake. They’re ready when tender and beautifully caramelized around the edges.

Serve warm with a generous spoonful of cold Greek yogurt, chopped walnuts and, if you want it, one last drizzle of maple.

Easy Swaps

No Greek yogurt? Try coconut yogurt, skyr or mascarpone. Pecans are beautiful in place of walnuts. You can skip the brown sugar and use a little more maple for a less-sweet version, or swap the butter for ghee or coconut oil. And if you have apples sitting on the counter, use those—the same recipe works beautifully.

Why I call this glow food

Pears bring fiber and vitamin C. Walnuts add plant-based omega-3 fats, vitamin E and a little protein. Greek yogurt brings protein and, when you choose one with live cultures, probiotics. Cinnamon gives all that warmth and flavor without needing loads of added sugar.

And there’s something to be said for dessert built around the fruit bowl rather than something from a package.

Feed your skin. Feed your body. Enjoy dessert. All of it gets to belong at the same table.

Love + Eat Well,

— Natalie

Creamy cannellini beans simmered with fresh tomato, garlic and shallot, finished with peppery arugula, basil, Parmesan and plenty of lemon. Cozy enough for dinner, but bright enough to make year-round.

Serves 3–4

Ingredients

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 shallot, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 large ripe tomato, chopped
2 cans cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1 to 1½ cups chicken broth
½ teaspoon sea salt, plus more to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon red chili flakes, or to taste
2 generous handfuls fresh arugula
¼ cup freshly grated Parmesan, plus more for serving
Juice of ½ lemon
Handful fresh basil, torn

Make It

Warm the olive oil and butter in a wide skillet or shallow pot over medium-low heat. Add the shallot and cook until tender and translucent.

Add the garlic and chili flakes and cook for about 30 seconds, just until fragrant.

Stir in the chopped tomato with a pinch of salt and black pepper. Let it cook for a few minutes until the tomato begins to soften and release its juices.

Add the cannellini beans and 1 cup of the chicken broth. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook uncovered for 10–15 minutes, adding a little more broth as needed. Mash a small spoonful of the beans against the side of the pan and stir them back in to give the broth a naturally creamy texture.

Fold in the arugula and let it wilt into the warm beans.

Turn off the heat and stir in the Parmesan, fresh lemon juice and torn basil. Taste and adjust with more salt, pepper, chili or lemon.

Spoon into shallow bowls and finish with a drizzle of good olive oil, more Parmesan and fresh basil.

Glow Notes

Cannellini beans bring plant-based protein, fiber and minerals to the bowl, while tomatoes, arugula, garlic, herbs and olive oil layer in colorful plant compounds. It’s the kind of meal we love most—real ingredients cooked together into something deeply satisfying.

From the Table: Serve on its own, spoon over a thick piece of toasted sourdough, or add a jammy egg for an even heartier meal.

Love + Eat Well,

by Natalie