It’s official: Summer is slipping through our fingers. By now we’ve hit the beach, gotten our passports stamped, gone on that cross country road trip, or read several books in a row from the comfort of a hammock, beach towel, or our very own couch. Whatever your summer vacation style, I hope you had a good one.
As we turn to autumn, with its crisp fall days and back to school energy, I’m reflecting on the best parts of this summer and how I can hold onto them just a little bit longer.
And although things will no doubt look different once school starts and I settle back into a work rhythm at home, it’s never a bad idea to bring intention to how we want to spend our time.
Here are three things I loved this summer and hope to hold onto as I head into fall. What will yours be?
Leisurely breakfasts. At home I am usually hustling my kiddo out the door, which means either eating hurriedly at the kitchen counter alongside him or scraping something together afterwards before getting to work. And although I am lucky enough to set my own schedule, I don’t usually bake in time for a long, leisurely breakfast. But spending a month in Spain this summer set me right. My husband and I would drop our son off at the bus stop, then stroll around the neighborhood till we found a café serving the traditional Spanish breakfast of pan con tomate, zumo de naranja y café for less than the price of a single oat cortado back in Brooklyn. Then we’d sit and talk, and eat and sip and talk some more—without agenda or hurry. There was no reason to rush off to work—my husband was keeping New York working hours, so it’d be another six hours before his team was awake, and I could easily start my day at 9:30am instead of 8:30am. Why not let the morning breathe? Let the mind settle? Let the day unravel at its own pace rather than being pushed and prodded and poked to begin? Obviously, New York mornings operate at a much different pace. But I hope that I can hold onto this feeling of morning spaciousness in my own way—by not hustling to get out the door, by allowing myself to really savor breakfast and not immediately stress about all the things that need to get done, or even just being okay with starting my day a little later. What if we actually gave ourselves the time to sit and eat without rushing before tackling our work email or Slack messages? Wouldn’t that be something?
Used bookstores. As readers of this newsletter know, I read a lot. I find reading fiction in particular to be very restful—it’s an activity I enjoyed as a child but abandoned in the years after college (I was a lit major—too much reading, perhaps), until I began researching my last book, Rest Easy, and became happily reacquainted with my reading compulsion. At home, I usually choose books by sourcing recommendations from podcasts, book reviews, and friends, then immediately placing books I’m interested in on hold at the library. The ones I love I then buy at my local indie, where I will inevitably be inspired by a shelf-talker or two and pick up another book for my reading pile. But what I don’t often do in New York is seek out used bookstores. I don’t know why, really. Maybe because I’m following the latest releases, I don’t think much about books older than the past few years. But this summer I visited troves of bookstores during our trip to Spain, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that most of them sell a mix of new and used books—and there were so many finds! I had a lot of fun discovering new-to-me authors with long backlists of books to explore. Browsing a used bookstore, I had the same feeling I used to get while vintage shopping when I lived in Paris—that with a little bit of effort, you could find something really special. And since used books are more affordable, I found myself taking more gambles on books I might not have been 100% convinced by in their more expensive new release form. (Book prices have gone up, in case you hadn’t noticed.) They’re also more eco-friendly.
I know some authors dislike used bookstores because they can’t get royalties from those sales the way they would through a new purchase or library purchase. I get that. But to me, it feels worth having your work out there, however it’s circulating. So I’m happy to add used bookstores to my rotation of book establishments I love. Libraries, indies, and used bookstores—yes please. If you have a favorite used bookstore in New York, I’d love to hear it in the comments.
Fully committing to the thing. This summer we probably went to the beach six times, which is a lot for me. On two of those occasions, I was feeling grumpy. The beach we’d chosen was too crowded, the water glossy with sunscreen and tanning oil, and it just wasn’t the picturesque (but hard to get to) beach I would have chosen. (When traveling, one must compromise—but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it.) On the days when I knew the beach wasn’t going to be my vibe, I went with my swimsuit in my bag and left my contact lenses at home. I could change at the beach if the spirit moved me, but I probably wasn’t going to be swimming much. And let me tell you: that was stupid. On those days, I got too hot, which made me cranky. Because I hadn’t wanted to stay very long, we didn’t rent any beach chairs and umbrellas—we were only going to be there a few hours, so why bother? That lack of real commitment led to other decisions that made the afternoon less tolerable: I hadn’t packed a lunch, and we ran out of sunscreen. Basically, I didn’t prepare because I hadn’t wanted to. I didn’t commit. But I see now how foolish that was. Because when I did commit, the day was much more fun. I’d pack sandwiches and no one got hangry. We got a beach umbrella and no one got overheated or sunburned. I put my swimsuit and contacts on from the jump and cooled myself off before a bad mood could strike. I was swimming in the Mediterranean, for chrissakes—crystal blue baby waves, warm water—this was nice. Why hadn’t I been doing this earlier?
Sometimes our own stubbornness gets in the way of our ability to relax and have fun; I’m trying to remember that. I’m trying to commit, fully, even when the activity isn’t one I would have chosen myself. Because it’s the not committing—the participating but at an arm’s length—that’s the problem. So this fall, let’s really do this thing, whatever it is. Let’s commit. It’ll be more fun that way.
What bits of summer are you hoping to hold onto this fall? Reply to this email directly or let me know in the comments.
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OMG! I could totally see myself on your last paragraph 😅 I always keep the “I didn’t want to be here” mood. I’ll try to change it too!! Let’s commit 💪🏽