How I’m Using the Wheel of the Year to Honor Cycles + Live More Intentionally

the Gregorian calendar has zero vibes

Oct 13, 2025

Perhaps Halloween was my first true love.

I grew up in the 90s in a small town in Florida, population: maybe 8000. My house had a giant backyard that combined with our neighbors (and best friends, as they had two daughters the same age as my sister and I) yard into, well, mega-yard. It had a perfect climbing tree in one corner, a big bonfire pit at the other. I couldn’t begin to tell you the actual size—my brain doesn’t work like that—but it was big.

And every year on whatever weekend was closest to Halloween, my parents and our neighbors would co-host an extravaganza of a Halloween party.

As I grew up, I realized that most people’s ‘big family’ gatherings are on Christmas. We did that too, but it wasn’t anything epic. Not like this Halloween party—nothing felt more like family than the prep for this party. My grandma helping me paint my face green for my witch costume (I was a witch, like, every year, obviously), my grandpa helping my dad with setup outside. My mom prepping endless snacks, waltzing around in her always perfectly extravagant costumes. My sister and I sneaking candy. It was… honestly some of my fondest memories.

The actual event was insane. There’d be trick or treating, a hayride, competitions, every game you can think of. Bonfires with s’mores and hot dogs. Everyone decked out in costumes—no half-assing it here. I’m sure a ton of debauchery with the adults that the kids had no idea about. If I could travel back in time I’d go to one of those parties, just to relive it as a kid (or maybe experience it as an adult).

I loved it. I’m constantly aching with nostalgia to relive that high every year around this time.

Now, obviously I know that Halloween does not equal Samhain, especially not the Americanized sugar-coma-inducing approach to Halloween. But, there’s something I find oddly romantic about the notion that my favorite holiday does share some synergy with the start of The Wheel of The Year (Samhain).

I didn’t know it then, but those early Halloween rituals were my first experience of what I now understand as seasonal celebration.

A few years ago I started hearing more and more conversations around Samhain. Actually, no—I first heard it in college. But I didn’t know how to spell it and “sa-win” yielded me no results and I gave up. But a few years ago, I started to hear about these ideas of Sabbats, of The Wheel of The Year, of Midsummer and Beltane, and yes, of Samhain.

I was intrigued because all things ‘witchy’ and esoteric catch my attention, but for one reason or another it never felt like the right time to really dig in and explore. I’ve always believed that things arrive when we have the capacity for them—that our subconscious only offers what we’re ready to hold. Maybe I didn’t have the space before to explore the Wheel; maybe it’s here now because I finally do.

Last year I dabbled—through anxiety of a rocky early pregnancy, to late-term pregnancy loss, and the chaos of uprooting my entire life and moving to Spain. I didn’t have the capacity then, but I sensed the pull.

So as we approached Samhain (which is the beginning of The Wheel of The Year) again, I felt myself unable to ignore the tug. This was the time. My life still might be mostly unsettled in many ways, but I knew that the rituals, the practices, the grounding, and the permission contained inside this sacred journey would be the thing to support me. So… I’m doing The Wheel of The Year.

As I began my research into The Wheel of The Year, one thing became clear to me. The very ideas contained within this ritualistic pathway so clearly echoed my own beliefs and desires for a way of living that felt cyclical, intentional, and honoring the ebbs and flows versus constant capitalist push for more, more, more.

I’ve been on that journey for many years, but last year was an immersion in the hardest way possible. I traveled through many dark nights, deaths and rebirths, and portals. I’ve become intimate with The Tower, and The Star that emerges afterward. I’ve loved, grieved, and loved again. I’m by no means healed or on the other side of any of it, but I am in a deeper understanding of something… deeper. Something that speaks to how things grow, and fade, and compost into fuel for what’s next. Something that speaks to the needs for slow, soft seasons as well as fiery, growing seasons.

I find it deeply comforting to see this cycle close almost to the day I found out I was pregnant. That portal opened October 28, right around Samhain of last year. This year has been impossible to navigate, and as I lean into the energy of Samhain—composting, making space, endings, and grief—it feels too fitting to not be the year I fully explore the depths of this magic.

What Is The Wheel of the Year?

The Wheel of the Year is a journey through eight Sabbats over the course of a year, beginning with Samhain. This journey is used in many contemporary pagan, witchcraft, or more nature-focused paths. It combines the more commonly known solstices and equinoxes with four festivals that sit roughly halfway between them. The cycles echo seasonal shifts in things like light, climate, and agriculture.

It’s a synthesis of different traditions—including Celtic and Germanic/Anglo-Saxon influences with the lore and naming of the Sabbats. Some of the observations are date-specific while others are more astronomically related.

A brief overview of the eight Sabbats of The Wheel of The Year:

Samhain sits at the turning point of the Wheel—both an ending and a beginning—around October 31 to November 1. It marked the final harvest in many Celtic regions and the time when herds were brought in for winter. The veil between worlds was said to thin, making it a sacred period for honoring ancestors and communing with the unseen. It carries themes of death, remembrance, and renewal—the kind of endings that compost and feed what comes next.

Yule, or the Winter Solstice, falls around December 21. It marks the longest night of the year and promises the return and rebirth of the sun. Ancient midwinter customs across Europe celebrated the return of light through feasting and the lighting of fires. Spiritually, Yule speaks to stillness, endurance, and trust. It holds the quiet hope that light always returns, even in the darkest moments. It is a moment to rest, to gather close, and to tend to the smallest spark.

Imbolc is on February 1 and honors the earliest signs of renewal (think “Groundhog Day” vibes, but way cooler). In Ireland and Scotland it was tied to Brigid, goddess and later saint of the hearth, poetry, and craft. Imbolc carries themes of purification and gentle preparation—the first signs of soil starting to show beneath the frost. It holds the energy of the blessing of tools before planting, the clearing of homes (yes, the OG spring cleaning), the first commitment to new creation.

Ostara, the Spring Equinox, falls around March 20–21 when day and night stand in perfect balance. The name likely references a spring goddess, but modern approaches see this day as a celebration of fertility and renewal. It’s the season of fresh starts—the air carries possibility, the soil softens, and everything begins to wake up. Eggs, rabbits, and blooming flowers symbolize the world rebalancing itself after the long dark.

Beltane, on May 1, is a festival of fire, desire, and vitality. It is historically a Celtic celebration of fertility and the greening of the land. It involved bonfires, dancing, and rituals of union. It invites us to celebrate what is alive and to bless what we wish to see flourish. It’s full of life and creation. Modernly, it’s seen as a reminder to create joy and allow for creativity in our day-to-day.

Litha, or the Summer Solstice, falls around June 21. It’s counter to the Winter Solstice—the longest day of the year. Folklore across Europe ties this time to protection, abundance, and gratitude for the fullness of the season. Litha invites awareness of cycles—that even the brightest peak eventually turns toward rest. It’s a time to honor what’s ripened but also to prepare for the gradual return of the dark.

Lughnasadh, also known as Lammas, falls around August 1 and celebrates the first harvest of the season. Its name comes from the Irish god Lugh—a deity of skill and craftsmanship. It traditionally honored both the land’s bounty and human creativity. The first breads made from new grain were baked in gratitude and shared in community. It’s a time to pause and recognize how far you’ve come—to celebrate progress without rushing the next thing.

Mabon, the Autumn Equinox, falls around September 22-23. This is a modern name for the second harvest and another moment of balance. Day and night equalize once more before tipping toward darkness. Mabon is a more modern name, but this celebration is ancient. It’s when communities gathered harvests, stored grains and supplies for winter, and prepared for the darker months. It speaks to reciprocity, gratitude, and the impermanence of all things.

Intentions + Explorations for My Journey Through The Wheel of The Year

While I do have a tendency to want to do things perfectly and get it right, I’m intentionally choosing to let that go in this journey. I want to stay more curious about what changes in me as I move through each Sabbat. I want to know what stillness feels like at Yule, how desire shows up at Beltane, how grief ripens at Mabon. The Wheel gives me a map, but my real intention is to use these moments to come into deeper connection with myself.

I’m not creating a rigid structure or turning it into a self-improvement project. There’s nothing to ‘get right’ about this experience. I’m letting the Wheel become a mirror. My plan is to live with it, to let it teach me something about presence, patience, ritual, and rhythm. I’ll be documenting the journey here, on Substack.

As I move through this first full turn of the Wheel, I’m exploring a few intentions:

To live in rhythm with my body. I already have strong awareness and practices around rest and years of unlearning the compulsion to be productive, but I’m excited to ground that awareness into a more cyclical way of operating—to notice patterns as they emerge across the year and within each Sabbat.
To honor endings as much as beginnings. One business practice I stand by is the power of reflection—I believe we (and our experiences) can be our greatest teachers. I’m ready to bring that same energy into the rest of my life.
To ritualize my existence. I want to feel more connected to the rituals I do in a day, a week, or a month—to let them feel grounded in a larger rhythm. My current practices have served me well, but this feels like an opportunity to root them more deeply, to remember that the sacred doesn’t have to be separate from the everyday.

Invitations for You

If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve also felt the pull toward a slower, more seasonal rhythm. Or maybe you already live it intuitively and just haven’t named it yet. If you’re feeling the tug, perhaps you’d like to journey through The Wheel of the Year, too.

If any of this feels overwhelming but still interesting, here are a few simple practices I’m holding onto:

Can I spend time outdoors and simply notice what’s changing around me—and what that might be reflecting back to me?
Can I cook with more seasonal ingredients and pay attention to how they nourish me differently throughout the year?
Can I mark small thresholds—new moons, solstices, first blossoms, final leaves—with one intentional act of presence, even if it’s just lighting a candle or taking a slow breath?

Resources + Further Reading about The Wheel of The Year

If you want to explore The Wheel of the Year more deeply, here are a few books and ideas to begin with. While most of my own research has been internet rabbit holes, this is my list of TBR books (I’m currently reading the first):

And one other note, that’s actually been very interesting for me in my explorations. Try paying attention to how your local community already marks the turning of the seasons—fairs, saint’s days, harvest festivals, processions, bonfires, religious holidays/events, etc.

Many of these celebrations have older agricultural or pre-Christian roots woven through them, later reinterpreted through different religious or cultural lenses.

For example, Groundhog Day might seem like a random superstition, but it’s actually tied to the same seasonal impulse as Imbolc—the anticipation of spring’s return. The same goes for Easter, which blends Christian and much older fertility symbols like eggs and hares that celebrate renewal and rebirth. It’s fascinating from a historical context to see how these threads have always been there, even if it’s turned into a commercialized (or Christianized*) holiday.

*Please note: I’m aware that many Christian holidays were built on or adapted from older pagan and pre-Christian festivals that marked the same seasonal shifts. That history’s fascinating—but it’s not the story I’m telling here.

Thank you for reading. I’d love to hear from you—are you planning on working with the Wheel of the Year this season, or have you in the past? I’d love to connect with you over it!

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