30. On the invincible summer
Musings around the solstice and a (realistic) summer bucket list
I wrote this essay earlier in the week, it’s a bit different from what I usually write but it flowed out of me pretty smoothly. I’d love to hear what you think. Inspired in part by
’s Boring Girl Summer and Big Salad’s My Very Low Key Summer Bucket List.Does anyone else feel like the weeks are flying by? Already spring is dipping into summer. The solstice came and went, the longest day of the year. Daylight stretches past 8, 8:30pm making it feel as if we have more time in the day. A season of bounty, of abundance.
What will you do with all this wild and precious daylight?
In this moment my head feels clear, my heart full. The weekend was filled with (perhaps too much) sunshine, the pages of new book, quality time with friends, cold beer on a hot day, a refreshing dip in our neighbor’s pool, a lemony summer pasta. Nothing fancy but it felt good, really good.
Part of my brain fights the urge to document it all for Instagram, for Substack, for the many apps that require posting and sharing and commenting and liking. “Do it for the ‘gram!” What a ridiculous phrase. Do it for you. Do it for your peace, your joy. Do it for love. But please, don’t do it for the ‘gram.
The other part of my brain fights the wave of anxiety it suspects is still there, lurking. A malicious presence. A waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely this can’t be it? Surely this is too good to be true, this Pinterest-charmed life. Surely all those influencers with their straw bags and their Italian vacations and their summer reading lists are horribly depressed, anxious, broken hearted.
Part of me hopes they are. Is that awful?
I think back to where I was last summer. Crying in bed. Crying on the beach. Crying in the car. Crying while watching Girls. Crying crying crying. Swimming in an ocean of my own tears. Drowning in salt water. Have I emerged cleansed, reborn? My fingers shriveled as if all the sadness has been sucked out of me? I’ve never seen an ocean still. Waves are dependable, constant, ever present.
“It’s a good thing it’s summer,” my mother said at the time.
Imagine how much worse you’ll feel in the winter, I heard.
And yet, summer is my season. An August baby, a Leo sun. My skin is already a deep maple brown. I buy flowers every Monday and move them from room to room, afraid to let them out of my sight. I put on a sundress for no reason and pad barefoot around my house, showing off for the cat. Is it enough, this life? Am I enough? Can I settle into it, allow myself to relax, to breathe?
I pulled the “Contentment” card today. It feels nice to believe in signs.
Already I fear the end. The quick slide into autumn. The first touch of crispness in the air, signaling the death of summer’s freedom. A season of return to work and calendar organization and productivity. Blech, productivity. The days will start growing longer. I don’t feel ready. I may never be ready.
I want to stay here, trapped in the summer heat. Sandy and berry-stained. Smelling of sunscreen and sour wine, a bloated beach read in my hands. Please, can I stay here? I promise to limit my screen time, to say no to “fake picnics,” to empty my carts of $200 nap dresses and sunglasses that don’t suit my face shape. I will let my toenails go unpolished, let the farmer’s market produce spoil in the fridge. I will lay low, shrink myself down in hopes that summer won’t notice I’m still here.
Perhaps it will get confused and forget about its annual obligation to the equinox. Perhaps the days will grow longer and longer until they swallow up the night altogether. And we will adapt, buying blackout curtains and fancy silk eye masks and happily Googling: “is there such thing as too much Vitamin D?”
Ah, but the moon. I would miss the moon. It hardly seems fair to her, this selfish destruction of her natural habitat. She rises full in the sky tonight, the Strawberry Moon. A scattering of atmospheric light casting her in a warm reddish hue. Watch as I faithfully point my iPhone towards the sky, trying to capture her brilliance. It never looks as good as you want it to.
I sigh, put the phone back in my pocket, resist the urge to click through its tempting little squares. I will be present, I vow. I will spend every moment I can with summer, basking in its heat, eating its soft fruit. I will give it my full attention, before it inevitably slips through my fingers.
A (realistic) summer bucket list:
Bake something with fruit (recipes welcome)
Swim in the ocean as much as possible
Read only things that bring me joy (right now it’s this)
Buy fresh flowers at every opportunity
Don’t buy things I don’t need (the fresh flowers are a need)
Have a picnic on the grass
Eat LOTS of tomatoes
Go on long walks with friends
Drink iced coffee in the backyard every morning
Mute/unfollow social media accounts that make me feel not enough
Make a summer playlist (like me, she’s a work in progress)
Ride my bike with the carefreeness of my younger self
Wear dresses and go barefoot whenever possible
Attend outdoor yoga every week
Camp under the stars (planning a Catalina trip next month)
Go to an outdoor concert (seeing Noah Kahan at the Hollywood Bowl tonight!)
See a movie and bask in the air conditioning (Inside Out 2 is first on my list)
Pickle things
Lay on my bed in the afternoon, when the sunlight is best
Practice gratitude
What’s on your summer bucket list? I’d love to hear.
Until next time, thank you for being here, and happy solstice ☀️
My summer list is simple … be on Lasqueti and eat what comes out of the ocean and out of the ground. And, help Lucy and (Cole) Porter to adjust and get along. And maybe draw and read and walk and be happy and … 🤷🏻♀️
"I put on a sundress for no reason and pad barefoot around my house, showing off for the cat. Is it enough, this life? Am I enough? Can I settle into it, allow myself to relax, to breathe?" PREACH. So good.