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The older I get… the more pressure I seem to place on summer. I’ve attempted to examine this dynamic but I’ve only managed to cobble together a few pale theories.
Is this because______?
A). I live in New England. Our winters and springs are long and cold. It seems to take summer forever to arrive. When it does it’s time to get cracking on boating, beach-going, lobster rolls, and all manners of summer fun?
B.) Time feels like it’s passing faster than ever, therefore I need to really make summer “count” because “it’ll be over before we know it”?
C.) I want to futilely recapture some summer romance of days long gone by, while being in complete denial that this is no longer truly possible because I am a full-fledged grown-up? Continue reading