How's Your Summer?

Is anyone else getting annoyed by the “how’s your summer” question? 

It’s just now August and each time someone (well meaning) asks, I suddenly feel like I’m failing summer. Have we gone on any big trips? Have we done anything exciting? No, (not unless you count a conference in Indiana) and as for exciting, not by most people’s standard. But the tomatoes are looking good, the salads have been delicious, and the backyard smells of basil whenever the breeze blows and makes the wind chime dance. There have been daily popsicles and cereal bowls piled high with raspberries or peaches. We’ve played in the water at Boston Harbor and watched too much TV. But that’s just the Instagram worthy highlights. The grownups are still (trying to) work in-between the popsicles and the day camps. There have been meltdowns as a result of emotions and the temperature, there have been quarrels, miscommunications, and clutter everywhere, and “where do these ants keep coming from?”

I remember when I was a kid, the summer was this expanse of “other time.” Outside of the usual routine, it held an almost sacred set-apart-ness. I also remember it felt endless and tasted like kool-aid. I realize now that it was cultivated by my parents (thanks Mom and Dad!). 30-some years later it feels like the culture of summer has changed. The internet memes like to remind parents that we “only have 18 summers” with our kids at home, so we’d better make them count! And somehow, “making them count” equates to elaborate vacations, numerous camps, a bucket list of activities, and a backyard swimming pool. That could be lovely, but it also sounds stressful, busy, and expensive; and we have done almost none of them. The question, “how’s your summer,” feels like “how much have you accomplished, how many things have you done.”

So, how is our summer? 

I came across this Mary Oliver poem this week and as I read it I felt my shoulders drop and I took a deep breath. 

TODAY by Mary Oliver Today I’m flying low and I’m not saying a word I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep. The world goes on as it must, the bees in the garden rumbling a little, the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten. And so forth. But I’m taking the day off. Quiet as a feather. I hardly move though really I’m traveling a terrific distance. Stillness. One of the doors into the temple.

In all of Mary Oliver’s tombs of wisdom, the greatest of these is “paying attention” and “be-ing.” “The world goes on as it must,” but “I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.” I’m not failing summer. Summer is happening and I am choosing to “hardly move though really I’m traveling a terrific distance.” We are having a be-ing summer. 

With gratitude for the culture of WildWood, in August we take a break from weekly gatherings and instead encourage each other to settle into the sacred set-apart-ness of summer.

May you find space to fly low and be quiet as a feather. 

I’m off to find out if Kool-Aid still tastes the same. 

Blessings friends, see you on September 6.