When strawberries, nectarines, cantaloupe, and peaches started to overflow our kitchen counter, I knew it was time for days marked by bonfires and swimming pools, sunburns and sandcastles to begin. Summer was always my favorite part of the year. Exhausting days of algebra and cursive transformed into front yard soccer games and dusty camping trips. No matter if I was nine or nineteen, summer days were pure fun with no complications, no responsibilities.
Sticky, sweet juice would drip from the ripest nectarine and spill onto my star-spangled banner swimsuit, but there was no need to worry; I would just hop into the ocean to wash away the pink stain. My mom would swaddle me in the largest, softest towel imaginable and then we would stop for milkshakes as the beach faded away with the closing sunset. However, over time, that towel began to shrink. It wasn’t as large as I remember and the sunset wasn’t as bright as it once was. Was it shrinking or was I growing?
My summers began to change. Days of endless books, backyard treasure hunts, and scraped knees became work shifts, loud parties, and midnight drives with friends. Even more so with college; I was accustomed to my college life, my college friends. Moving back home for summer meant readjusting to living with my family. I love my hometown friends, but now we were faced with the challenge of remembering how we existed together. I was 30 minutes away from them and without a school day to facilitate interactions, planning to see them on top of trips and work became a daunting task; a stark contrast to being three steps away from the friends I had made in college. I had to adapt to this new normal.
I found myself constantly debating the best course of action for my career: Where can I work at home? Should I have an internship? What would this look like on my resume? I no longer thought only of sunny bike rides and Fourth of July fireworks; I was consumed with where my life should be instead of appreciating it for where it was. I still loved Summer and everything that came with it, but I no longer had a carefree love; there were conditions strapped to it. How do I get back to my childhood days of digging for bugs and endless sleepovers with friends? Maybe I didn’t, maybe I needed to find something new.
Summer had transformed from a dazzling-pink haze to a hot-orange film. The rose-colored glasses were off, but my new Junes and Julys and Augusts remained gorgeous to look at. I still had bonfires and pool parties, movie marathons and dripping ice cream cones. The atmosphere just felt a little different, as if a photographer had swapped lenses, casting a new sheen over the picture. I guess that’s the price for growing up: everything becomes a little different. The pillars of childhood stand tall, but through life we plaster stickers to them because of what we have experienced. They are no longer simply bare, but glisten with the memories we made and the dreams we want to achieve.
So yes, Summer was not what I once knew, but I still eagerly wait for strawberries, nectarines, cantaloupe, and peaches to be spilling over our kitchen counter. I get to see my family and friends who have known me through every summer and I am glad that our time is spent when the days are the longest. As long as I have my barbecues filled with country music and card games as the sun sinks below the sky, summer will still be summer.Â