Every summer for the last three or four years, I’ve taken a trip to the beach alone. The first time I went, I thought, “Is this weird of me?” but found myself loading a chair, towel, and mini cooler into my car and driving an hour to sit on the sand, anyway. I’ve always loved the beach. I have the happiest memories playing in the sand, basking in the sun, and swimming in the water. Most times I go with friends or family, but once a year now, I go alone. I bring a book, watch how little kids make memories that they don’t know they’re making, and wade into the waves to float, head above water, ears completely submerged.
Summer has always been my favorite season. It always meant no school, warm weather, and better moods (or so it seemed). I would spend more time outside, with my friends, in the sun, and just genuinely being happy. To put it plainly, I don’t have much of anything but lovely memories in all the summers I’ve lived through. How could it not be my favorite season?
But aside from all the happiness I find in warm weather and brighter days, there’s an eternal feeling that I find in each summer. Like it waits all year just to be felt for a few months, then hides in hibernation, and reappears in the waves of a beach. I’ve also learned to find this feeling in freeze pops, open screen doors, pasta salad, sunscreen, and if you head to Cape Cod during the summer months, the Bourne Bridge.
It never loses it’s magic either. It’s not like Christmas, where each year after learning there’s no such thing as Santa, I seemed to get further and further away from the fantasy of what the Holidays were once all about. The belief in a big red sleigh and little elves allowed for so much happiness during the depths of winter, but once my innocence started to fade, so did the magic of Christmas.
Summer is different, though. It’s never felt less blissful as I’ve aged, if anything, it’s only felt more. I hold onto knowing that each day after winter solstice, we gain more sunlight. Even if it’s only a minute or so, the thought of having more light transforms my entire mood. Sometimes I think I owe my life to the sun. It’s been so much of the reason behind why I’m happy. Circumstances come and go, but I know that summer is always going to bring happiness my way, simply because the sun decides to shine.
In the last few years, I pieced together that summer has always been about what I do with other people. The pool parties, the beach days, the Cape trips, the 4th of July plans, the bonfire nights, the rooftop restaurants and bars— they’ve all been about laughing, loving, and living life with people I care deeply about. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I don’t have a piece of summer to myself. What do I do alone in the summer? What can I claim as mine? I couldn’t think of anything. That’s when I packed my bag a few summers ago and went to the beach alone. I parked my chair on a spot in the sand and spent the day in my own company so that I could say, “this is for me”.
Every summer now, that’s what I do. I find time to go alone— not because I don’t want to be around friends or family but because I want the memories. I want to absorb that little amount of love you find from sandy toes and rotating your chair to chase the sun. To breathe in the saltwater air and shoo away seagulls that act as thieves.
Now I have these little slivers of paradise. These little days of just me and the sound of crashing waves. And as much as I love spending my summers with friends and family, I want that eternal feeling to know that even if no one grilled hamburgers or corn on the cob, even if no one let off fireworks and roasted marshmallows, even if no one sipped white wine with me on the porch at sunset, I would still wade out into the waves, float on my back, and step into that feeling of foreverness.
When I’m old and gray and getting to the beach alone is no longer on my summer agenda, I hope that I look back on all my life’s favorite seasons and smile. I hope the beach knows that it cleansed a year’s worth of anything but pure bliss off my back and baptized me into someone who could take on another 365 days. That floating on my back in the middle of the ocean, head above water, ears submerged is one of the most sacred memories I’ll take with me to wherever I’m going next. Because if they don’t have oceans and summers, BBQs and sun hats, I’ll be just fine. This life has given me a million, no a billion, reasons to love summer, and every year for as long as I live, I’ll stamp a piece of me into this season, say thank you, and know that no matter what happens, sunshine and waves are waiting for me to fall in love with them all over again.
So, thank you, summer. You've been good to me.
Sincerely,
A Summer Lover
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