Just the other week, I was preoccupied with one of the traditions of the season – setting clocks back one hour to reflect the end of Daylight Savings Time. The actual ritual takes less time than the amount of time I ruminate on what I want to do with my extra hour.

I can’t say this about another important fall tradition – transferring my warm weather and cold weather wardrobes between my bedroom closet and more distant storage space. This upstairs – downstairs, front closet – back closet process always takes some time and not an insignificant amount of reflection.

Unlike changing the clocks, which is a practice observed by everyone the same way, this in with my sweaters/out with my sundresses ritual is triggered by feel. When exactly I’ll decide to take this task on will depend on the weather, how much free time I have; my mood. It’s a much more personal tradition. I have to be ready to shake things up, to make decisions and, sometimes, to be willing to part with things.

I’ll usually decide to change the landscape of my closets in November only after I am convinced I won’t want to wear shorts and tees any time soon. This ritual is summoned by a kind of a wistful realization that summer is truly and completely over.

Sometimes, I’ll find myself spreading all my clothes on my bed on a gray and drizzly Sunday when the illusion of sunshine can’t play with my normally sensible fashion choices and I’ve accepted the jig is up. Sometimes I’ll decide to manage my closet cleaning/wardrobe swapping process on a Friday night when I have nothing else to do. The amount of time I’ll take can make it feel like a Friday night indulgence, like something I do for ME. I suppose it is.

Just the other day, I was looking for a blouse I usually think of as transitional, not purely fitting for any one season, and I couldn’t remember if I hung it in my upstairs or downstairs closet.  Of course, this prompted me to look through my closets and opened the dam for the flood of garments I started stacking on my bed. At this point, I was taken by an irrepressible urge to know what I possessed.

Out came my summer wear. Dresses and sheer tops, mostly on white plastic hangers, found their way to the top of my bed. I emptied all my closet bins of tees, except for gym clothes, refolding most of them for compact storage in the chest of drawers in the basement or seldom used guest room closet.

I brought up sweaters and long sleeved tops from these same remote spaces. I did a little mental inventory to account for my few cashmere sweaters I expected were contained in dry cleaning bags and chastised myself when I discovered any cold-weather garment that got stored before it was cleaned properly.

For a short period, both summer and winter clothes were displayed on my bed; almost everything I own that’s wearable. I have an odd appreciation for this moment of reckoning. It’s a great exercise in being conscious.

I enjoy this twice a year process of swapping out my clothes between closets. I like feeling current and having what I need close at hand. I like being able to look at what I have and ask myself if I need or want something moving forward. (I’ll usually end up sending a bag of clothes to The Village or Goodwill.) I may notice gaps in what I think I need and budget to buy something, or I’ll notice if a jacket needs a new zipper or if a button needs to be secured before I really want to wear it.

Mostly, this ritual is one of awareness and gratitude. It validates my efforts to give myself what I need but not carry extra stuff through my next season.

Seeing that what you have is enough is no small thing.