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Twice a year the Earth reaches a kind of pause in its breathing. The sun sits directly over the equator, neither hemisphere is leaning toward it, and for a brief moment the whole planet receives light on equal terms. This week is one of those moments. The September equinox arrives at 00:06 UTC on September 23, 2026, which means readers in the Americas will feel it on the evening of September 22, while Europe, Africa and Asia meet it in the early hours of the 23rd.
Twice a year the Earth reaches a kind of pause in its breathing. The sun sits directly over the equator, neither hemisphere is leaning toward it, and for a brief moment the whole planet receives light on equal terms. This week is one of those moments. The September equinox arrives at 00:06 UTC on September 23, 2026, which means readers in the Americas will feel it on the evening of September 22, while Europe, Africa and Asia meet it in the early hours of the 23rd.
In the north, this is the doorway into autumn. In the south, it is the first breath of spring. Either way, it is a hinge in the year, and hinges are where things can be adjusted. This article gives you a simple way to use that hinge: a ten-minute balance audit that asks two honest questions. What have you been carrying that is time to put down? And what have you been keeping at arm’s length that is time to let in?
If you worked with our recent new moon wishing ritual, you may wonder why you would need another practice so soon. The two do very different jobs.
A new moon is a beginning. It is dark, quiet and receptive, which makes it ideal for planting a wish and letting it grow over the lunar month. The energy is forward facing. You are asking for something that does not exist yet.
The equinox is not a beginning. It is a weighing. Nothing is being born at this point in the solar year; instead, two forces that have been unequal all season are briefly level with each other before one of them takes the lead. That makes it a natural moment for inventory rather than intention. You are not asking the universe for anything new. You are looking at the scales of your own life and noticing which side is overloaded.
Put simply, the new moon asks “What do I want?” The equinox asks “What is out of proportion?” You need both questions, and they rarely give the same answer.
Most equinox articles tell you that day and night are exactly twelve hours each on this date. It is a lovely idea, but the sky is a little more interesting than that. Because the sun is a disk rather than a single point, and because our atmosphere bends light over the horizon, most places actually get a few extra minutes of daylight on the equinox itself. The true day of equal light and dark is called the equilux, and it falls a few days away from the equinox depending on your latitude.
I find this detail more useful than the myth. Perfect balance, it turns out, is never a single instant you can pin down. It is a zone you pass through, a little before or after the moment everyone points to. Your own life works the same way. You will not reach a morning where everything is flawlessly weighted. What you can do is notice when you are close, and make small corrections while the window is open. The equinox, and the few days around it, is that window.
Humans have treated the equinoxes as thresholds for a very long time. In Japan, the week surrounding each equinox is Higan, a Buddhist observance whose name means “the other shore”. Families visit and tend ancestral graves, and the changing of the season is read as a reminder that people, too, are meant to change. The emphasis is on reflection and renewed effort rather than celebration for its own sake.
In the modern pagan Wheel of the Year, the autumn equinox is known as Mabon, a second harvest festival devoted to gratitude, balance and preparing for the darker half of the year. It is a time to count what the season has given you and decide what does not need to come with you into winter. Southern Hemisphere practitioners mark this same week as Ostara, the spring equinox, where the focus turns to renewal and the returning light.
Notice the common thread. Whether the tradition faces toward autumn or spring, toward ancestors or toward the harvest, the equinox is treated as a time to stop, take stock and cross over into the next season a little lighter than before.
You need a sheet of paper, a pen, and ten undisturbed minutes. A candle is a pleasant addition but not a requirement. If you can, do this on the evening of the equinox or any evening within three days of it. If you can face west while you work, even better: around the equinox the sun sets almost due west, so the direction of sunset lines up with the direction of the season’s turning.
Minutes 1 to 2: Breathe in Equal Measure
Sit comfortably with your spine upright. Before you write anything, bring your body into the same state of balance you are about to examine. Breathe in for a slow count of four, and out for a slow count of four. This is a gentle form of samavritti, the yogic “equal movement” breath, and you do not need to add any holds. Simply let the in breath and out breath become the same length. After a dozen rounds, most people notice that their thoughts have slowed to match.
Minutes 2 to 5: Draw the Scales
Draw a vertical line down the middle of your page. Label the left side “Release” and the right side “Welcome.”
Now walk through five areas of your life, one at a time: your body, your work, your relationships, your rest, and your inner or spiritual life. For each one, ask a single question: “Where is this area heavier than it needs to be, and where is it lighter than it should be?”
Heaviness goes on the left. It might be a commitment you keep saying yes to out of guilt, a grudge, a late night habit, a role you have outgrown. Lightness goes on the right. It might be too little play, too little help from others, too little time outdoors, too little silence. Write quickly and do not edit. You are not composing, you are weighing.
Minutes 5 to 7: Name the Feeling Underneath
Look at your Release column and circle the one item that carries the most charge. Next to it, write the plain feeling it produces in you, using one or two words: resentment, dread, exhaustion, shame, boredom.
This step matters more than it looks. Researchers at UCLA found that naming an emotion in words measurably quiets the amygdala, the brain’s alarm centre, while engaging a region involved in regulation. The study’s lead author even noted how closely this echoes old contemplative teaching. When you name what you are releasing, you loosen its grip before you ever let it go.
Then do the same on the Welcome side. Circle the one item you most want more of, and write the feeling you expect it to bring: ease, joy, connection, strength.
Minutes 7 to 9: Make the Exchange
This is the moment of crossing. Tear the page along your line. Hold the Release half in your left hand and the Welcome half in your right.
Say, aloud or silently, something close to this: “I have carried this long enough. I set it down so there is room for what I need.” Then let the Release half go. You can burn it safely in a sink or fireproof bowl, tear it into small pieces, or simply fold it and drop it in the bin. The method is less important than the physical act of separating from it.
It is worth knowing that the act of writing did most of the real work already. Decades of research into expressive writing suggest that putting difficult experiences onto paper helps the mind organise them, and that what you do with the page afterwards is entirely your choice. The ritual simply gives that inner shift an outer shape.
Minute 10: Keep What You Welcome
Fold the Welcome half and put it somewhere you will see it over the coming weeks: tucked into a journal, under your pillow, on your altar, or in your wallet. Before you stand up, choose one small, concrete action that feeds it within the next seven days. If you welcomed rest, perhaps that means one evening with no screens. If you welcomed connection, one call to someone you have been missing. Balance is not restored by a feeling alone. It is restored by the next small choice.
The practice works the same way everywhere, but the season can tilt the emphasis.
If you live in the Northern Hemisphere, you are walking into the darker half of the year. Let the Release column carry more weight. Autumn is nature’s great letting go, and what you put down now will not follow you into the long nights. Treat the Welcome item as something to shelter and tend quietly through winter.
If you live in the Southern Hemisphere, you are walking into longer, warmer days. Let the Welcome column lead. Spring energy supports expansion, so you may find that your welcomed item wants to grow faster than you expect. Release still matters, but think of it as clearing ground before planting rather than closing a chapter.
Do not be surprised if the days after the equinox bring small tests of your new balance. The old commitment will ask for one more yes. The late night habit will call. This is not failure; it is the scale settling. Each time you notice the pull and choose differently, you add a little weight to the side you chose.
It can help to revisit your Welcome half at the next full moon and ask how it has moved. Some items will already feel natural. Others may need another season. That is fine. The equinox comes back in six months, and the scales will be waiting to be read again.
Balance is not a place you arrive and stay. It is a practice of noticing, naming and adjusting, over and over, in rhythm with the turning year. This week the sky offers you a clear, level moment to start. Ten minutes is all it asks.