Things I want to do this summer
Everyone loves summer.
We count down the days ‘til it starts. We long for it in the depths of winter. Give us sun and sand, sleeping in and summer vacation. I’ve never been on board. Cooling autumn winds, short days and chilly nights sustain my soul the way the sun does others’.
Summer’s nearly here, though.
Antsy kids foreshadow summer. The Colorado Rockies find themselves in the thick of the playoff hunt, even though the playoff hunt won’t heat up for another four months. I’m a Vans kind of guy when the Carolinas turns to flip-flop weather.
Maybe summer can usher that renewal I’ve sought so deeply.
Connections can be restored, energy extended, faith reaffirmed, peace reestablished, stillness begun.
A hand back to feel rock bottom counts as close enough. A vice grip on the wheel with eyes closed and the myth of control abandoned will yield to a smooth road. Connections can be restored, energy extended, faith reaffirmed, peace reestablished, stillness begun.
No matter how long those take, when summer’s here, here’s what I’d like to do.
Lie on a blanket and gaze at the clouds.
Lie on a blanket and gaze at the stars.
Camp, fish, and camp again.
Fish somewhere new.
Hear my kids again. Hear them want to share with me.
Accept my fate.
Embrace my fate.
Dip my feet in a mountain stream.
Laugh. Laugh like life is good.
Meditate. Inside and outside.
Grill, cook, bake, and order takeout.
Play disc golf at sunrise.
Play disc golf as twilight approaches.
Set my mind to goals I’ve not even dreamed of yet.
Climb. Rest. Climb more. Rest even more.
Pay my price.
Trust. Be worthy of trust.
Stop meditating on letting go of attachments, and practice it.
Waste an entire day. The whole thing.
Play my harmonica.
Work late. Leave early.
Toss a closet-cleansing yard sale.
Find a new show, like The Bletchley Circle. Watch it a lot, but don’t become a slave to it.
Hike on a Sunday morning (or many Sunday mornings) with Marie.
Fish on a Saturday morning (or many Saturday mornings) with Grace.
Work out on a Friday morning (or many Friday mornings) with Elise.
Sit in the bleacher seats at day baseball games and score the game. Not care about anything else around me but the way a game unfolds simply and beautifully and uniquely.
Outrun a thunderstorm.
Help one of my kids with an outlandish idea.
Take a ball and snacks and drinks and my kids to a field.
Do that with other kids, too.
Walk alone. Walk with others.
Feel the sand in my toes, feel the salt of the sea on my lips. It’s been a long time.
Write. Read. Read even more. Maybe even a book. Writing and reading.
Feel the grass on my feet, the breeze in my hair and the sun on my face.
Love myself again.