Summer has a reputation for being restful that it rarely earns. School lets out, schedules loosen, and somehow we fill every opening with something else — a trip, a project, a commitment we said yes to back in February when summer felt like a distant country. By August we’re tired in a different way than we were in April, which is its own kind of defeat.
Here are five things I’m trying this summer. Maybe one of them is useful to you.
1. Eat One Meal a Week Outside
Not a picnic. Not a production. Just carry your plate out to the porch or the backyard or a patch of grass somewhere and sit with it. No phone. No podcast. Just the food and the air and whatever birds or neighbors happen to be nearby. I’ve found that eating outside slows me down in a way I can’t entirely explain — something about being uncontained by walls makes hurrying feel slightly ridiculous.
2. Keep a Summer Log, Not a Journal
A journal asks you to process. A log just asks you to notice. One line a day: what you ate, what the weather was like, who you talked to, what made you laugh. No reflection required. At the end of summer you’ll have a small, honest record of your actual life — which turns out to be more interesting than you’d expect.
3. Read One Book That Has Nothing to Do With Your Work
A novel. A history of some place you’ve never been. Poetry, if you’re feeling brave. The only rule is that it cannot be professionally useful. This is harder than it sounds if you’re the type who justifies every book by what you’ll get from it. Which I am. Which is exactly why I’m putting it on the list.
4. Find One Place You Return to All Season
A particular bench. A stretch of trail. A coffee shop on a specific afternoon. There’s something about returning to the same place over weeks that lets you watch a season actually move — the light shifting, the leaves filling in, the sounds changing. We talk about paying attention, but attention needs an address.
5. Let One Evening Be Completely Unplanned
No agenda, no show queued up, no errand dressed as leisure. Just open time and whatever emerges from it. A walk that goes longer than expected. A conversation that starts in the kitchen and ends on the front steps. I’m honestly not sure I’m good at this one yet — unplanned evenings make me a little anxious before they make me grateful. But I keep trying, which I suppose is the point.
May your summer be slower than you planned and fuller than you expected.