Summer: A Warm Reminder to Live
Summertime. My season under the sun, of countless little joys.
The ripe berries and icy cold melon, stocked full in the fridge as I gossip with my mom over coffee. The tingling of a much needed shower after hours of soaking in the neighborhood pool - a chlorine oasis. The intoxicating florals and cut grass on evening walks, even in the downtown air. The glasses of sauvignon blanc, carefully fixed on the arms of adirondack chairs as conversations with my love melt into the sunset, just as June (and almost July) have. The light colors of light clothes that compliment shimmering skin.
It’s these precious mementos and rituals that have kept my summer as lighthearted as possible. Otherwise, I’d become one with my laptop - a machine endlessly typing, hitting “reviewed” on tasks done and impatiently waiting for the next to float my way. I’m tired.
Burnout is a scary place to reside in. The days blend into nights that consist of planning to senselessness, writing tomorrow’s list, lying down and getting up to jot one more thing on this seemingly endless scroll. I sometimes wake up depleted. On particularly rough nights, my dreams are dragged-in moments of the day, forming a feeling of inescapability.
This is nothing new to me. There have been entire seasons I’ve missed, sitting lost in my work.
So many of us fall victim to the loss of life. I’m not talking about early death, which is another horrific truth, but simply wading through our day to day. Maybe the loss of time is a better phrase. But life is time, isn’t it?
The thing is, I don’t want to escape from my life. Rather, I’d give anything to have more of it.
We yearn for bigger and more grand lives, yet unintentionally, we often ignore the little treasures that shape our own curated existence. These are the same treasures that have inspired the greatest artists of all time, given to us for no price, other than the promise to experience them. The smells, the tastes, the occasions, the places, and the sentiments wait to be noticed. They’re all ours to savor.
I’ll conclude with this wish, this prayer:
May I uphold my sacred rituals that make me feel the most alive. May I respect my boundary to not lose myself in work while I build this little life, and harvest the fruits of my labor. May my days on this earth hold as much beauty in its presumed mundanity as this sweet season does, that the glimmering, extraordinary moments become inescapable.
With summer’s warm embrace,
Jacob
