Not-That-Girl Summer
Entering a season of casual connection.
My unofficial start to summer kicked off with a bang. Over Memorial Day Weekend, we stayed out until the sun rose for an electronic dance concert in Brooklyn, power napped and put on fresh faces for our friends’ annual backyard party, and rallied our underage troops for the pool club’s opening weekend bash the next day. My body could barely keep up with my brain, but I accepted chaos in the name of these being all good things, chances to celebrate and embrace a new season.
Until Tuesday hit.
I’ve written before about flagging our busy seasons in life and giving ourselves the grace to survive them. But dear readers, the “me” who contended that Fall was my busy season had never experienced having two children, in two different schools, with five activities between them. We rehearsed, we dress rehearsed, we dressed up in safari clothing, we danced, we visited classrooms, we visited day camps, we gifted, we partied, we pizza partied, we showcased, we clapped, we gathered, we commemorated, we witnessed two separate and distinct symbolic bridging ceremonies. To be clear, neither of my daughters graduated from anything. This is just June’s way of making us work for it.
By summer’s official start date, I had a different view of what I want—no, need—from these next few months. I need to hold myself to less. To halt the pace.
In past years, I’ve supplanted my family’s school-year obligations with my own socially fueled agita. The pressure to keep moving kept us just as busy, particularly as I emerged from the pandemic hoping for my own hot girl summer, which took a couple of tries to get right. Our kids were no longer babies and we were no longer triaging life, able to go places with both of my hands and without my eyes on my phone. Our world was getting bigger as we made new connections and sought the company of more people. That season of life felt so exciting, but the pendulum swung too far.
A writer I admire instituted a “no” month in June: no requests, non-essential meetings, or social plans for a whole month. I don’t think that hard-line rule would work for me, but it’s an interesting thought exercise. I know it would serve me well to be much more intentional around things I commit to. Take, for example, weeknight dinners I schedule four weeks out with a friend. Even if she’s someone I adore, the day might arrive and I might dread our plans, because I’m exhausted or my daughter’s under the weather or I didn’t get all my work done. Yet, I don’t feel like I can cancel, because she might read into it.
The cycle of people-pleasing at our own expense is a perpetual one.
I think the shift is more mental than practical. In other words, I don’t necessarily plan to be doing much less—I just want to commit to less.
I dream of a summer of casual connections. Catching up with people at the pool or the camp bus stop or downtown. Trying a last-minute workout class with an acquaintance. Throwing out a text message to girlfriends in the morning for drinks in my backyard after the kids go to bed. Connections that require minimal logistics but yield similar results, because they didn’t hold space in my tornado of a brain, leaving me to question whether they’ll happen or whether I’ll even want them to.
One of the most difficult adjustments to parenthood is losing agency over your time. The main reason we hyper-schedule is to try and claw some of that time back.
Friends and I reminisce and laugh about the Sundays we used to have in the city. “Remember brunch?” we’d say. It’s funny. I don’t particularly miss Saturday night bar tab birthday parties, but I do miss wandering in and out of designer vintage stores with my friends all afternoon. We almost never planned those days. If we were hungry, we ate. It's not that simple now.
I can’t discount that people, including me, curate time out of necessity. Everyone’s busy. Everyone’s got responsibilities. But where is the tipping point of manufactured socializing, where we’re peppering ourselves so much that we dilute our real connections?
This summer, I want to make space. Not just on my calendar but in my capacity to be present and engage with people. When I make plans for three weeks from now, they will be on purpose: a special concert. A celebratory dinner. A business opportunity. In committing only to these things, it makes space for everything else: unexpected joys, and more peaceful moments alone.
In his newsletter earlier this month, my husband described the very same weekend I wrote about at the start of this one. His takeaway was to come from a place of yes, which you’d think puts us on philosophically opposite ends of the spectrum here. But Doug wrote about breaking patterns and trying new things to unlock rewards in his life. I think I’m breaking my own patterns, too.
Ready to tap out for a bit? Comment below or LMK: averagejoelle3@gmail.com.
The little things
Last weekend, we had an out-of-body experience attending a founders’ summit in The Hamptons. You can read more about it here, but I’d be remiss to not highlight our hotel. The Canoe Place Inn & Cottages elevates coastal charm. From the accommodations to the hospitality, not a single detail was spared. I didn’t get to write in my perfect lil writing nook, so I guess that means we’ll have to go back.
Also
I read:
Stop Firing Your Friends – The Atlantic
What I Learned on a Titanic Sub Expedition – New York Magazine
Bed Rotting and Loud Quitting – Culture Study
I binged:
Season Two of “The Bear,” which I’d argue is even better than Season One.
I bought:
Multiple “going out tops” with great success. I’ve been searching for so long, I almost can’t believe I finally succeeded. Brands range from high-to-low, including Ulla Johnson, Hutch, By Together, and WAYF. Coming to a *casual connection* near you!
Your wins
Melissa’s kids got on the camp bus without any tears!
Perfect article for us with littles and LOTS of activities. Well done!