Anyone who knows me, or at least even follows me on any social media, is easily aware that summer is my absolute favorite time of the year. True, I am a die hard Christmas fanatic, and I easily can find myself enjoying the perks of fall in New England…but Summer, to me, is usually three glorious months of perfection. Warm weather and sun (it’s never too hot for me), the clothes (dresses!) the lack of coat (freedom!), the flora and fauna (read: flowers and greenery), summer romance, county fairs & street festivals, farmers markets, swimming, outdoor concerts…I could go on.
Today is exactly half way August. About this time of year, I begin to panic: Summer is almost over. I haven’t accomplished all I wanted. Soon it will be cold and blustery. Soon I will become a slave to coats and boots. And of course this is perpetuated by the fact that the stores now have their
Halloween Christmas decor on the floor already. Right about now, I usually find myself very consciously enjoying every last bit of summer to the fullest. I’m usually fighting anything fall related before the start of that pesky month that begins with an “S” and ends with an “eptember”. Before I have to start succumbing to golden leaves, pumpkins, shorter days and eventually hibernation.
This year is different. This year, I’m almost already feeling ready for fall.
Say what?! This is so not me.
Let’s be clear: this doesn‘t mean that I’m ready for cooler weather. I’m not thrilled with any prospect of chillier airs, and, like every year, I have my fingers crossed for an Indian Summer. That said, Summer 2013 has not treated me well. It fell quite a bit short of my expectations and really, I’m just ready to change seasons so that it might, in turn, perhaps change my mood and also my luck.
When I look back to April or May, I had such high hopes for the summer months. Tons of fun, carefree nights, the pool, beach, long weekends away, tennis, summer romance-maybe even a romance that would last beyond summer…basically summer usually brings me ubiquitous happiness and joy just by being summer. That didn’t happen this year. Instead, I got my heart broken in a more than brief fling that left me stinging well past when it should have, there was friend drama galore (at 27 years old? c’mon guys…), I’m
still more broke than before, I hardly went swimming, I didn’t get my much valued and needed vacation and I feel more confused and lonely than ever. Hell, I don’t even have a G.D. tan.
What. the. fuck.
Perhaps I should clarify-particularly for myself-that there were, in fact, many super fun times. Five concerts (and still two more to go), four of which were outdoors (your fave) and three of which were free (lemme repeat: free) and VIP seats. You also made it to nearly every one of the free weekly outdoor concerts your town offers- an event which you covet and count down to come spring time. There have been a handful of late nights dancing at the local hang out with groups of friends, BBQ’s and random events like meeting Jay Chandrasekhar, a hot dog festival you stumbled upon with your bestie in Philly and some surprisingly rewarding days at work. Really, you can’t complain.
But I will. Because I still feel gypped.
Maybe it’s the selfish, entitled generation that I come from. Maybe it’s because I’m looking at last…er past…summer’s and comparing (and we all know comparison is the death of joy). Or maybe it’s because this summer truly was more of a dud than not. I suppose realistically, not every summer can be AWESOME. Not every summer can be a whirlwind of love and laughter and sunshine and rainbows…
Am I asking too much? Is this what my generation has done to me?
I mean, when I say it out loud:
… “Man this summer really sucks- I never even got a vacation” I hear myself sounding so entitled that I want to barf.
… “I didn’t meet anyone/fall in love/find my soul mate/have a summer romance- what a let down” I sound completely out of touch with reality and immature as all hell. So immature, that I’m probably better off not in a real relationship.
…”Dude, we hardly ever went out and partied so hard that we had crazy stories to laugh over in the morning” I sound like I’m still 18 and/or someone in need of an intervention.
So why do I still think these things and feel such a let down? And how do I make them go away? Is the fact that I didn’t have a random summer fling, had to work through the summer and not get crazy with my friends all the time, actually self-growth and maturity in disguise? In retrospect, last summer, there was rarely two nights in a row in which I didn’t hang out with someone and booze it up- to the point where I think my liver was about to boycott my body. My girlfriend’s and I spent most of our time piecing our nights together, laughing over our drunken foolishness and either pining or bitching over our latest summer romance. Not really the face of maturity or stability and in no way what, at 27, I should be striving for. So why was last summer such a blast and this summer feel so lame? Because on paper that’s all super terrible and I should be way more mature and grown up by now.
Then it hits me: maybe I am more mature this year. Maybe that’s why things are boring. Maybe I am officially a grown up?
So, the question becomes: Does maturity have to equal boring? How do I restore a balance of boring and adult?
The truth is, I have no idea. Right now, I am more lost than Amanda Bynes trying to find her way out of her own 5-1-5-0 hold. All I know for sure right now, is I’m hoping for steadier days ahead. I am hoping the fall finds me in a better place and brings me some peace of mind and contentment. Because these waters sure have been rocky for a while now; smooth sailing could be a nice change.
“Things are never as they seem. A person. A mark. A statement. They are always deeper than we perceive, like walking in the ocean and suddenly dipping under the surface because the bottom has disappeared beneath your feet. The water appears shallow until you are suddenly flailing around beneath the surface, desperately searching for stable ground once again.”
― Kelseyleigh Reber