In between the spaces of boredom and madness, there's a place called summer break. It is this place that I recently find myself wandering in. What do I do with my days now that work has been cast aside for the next three months? What do I do with my nights now that days don't come so early anymore? What do I do with all this time I have to buck my tradition of wasting it? My mind fills this place with plans, lists, and endless idealized versions of what a "good" day should look like, but my body rarely seems to act upon them. But I have vowed that this summer will be different. This summer, I will actually go to the lake instead of just talking about it. I will work in the yard--pull weeds, tidy up the landscape, and plant new things to admire--instead of planning it in my head and sighing, "...when I have time." I will ride roller coasters at Silver Dollar City until my head spins and rightside-up morphs into upside-down. I will laugh, and eat and drink, roam vintage shops and frequent patio cafes, reveling in the company of friends and the antics of strangers. I will tend my garden and eat the vegetables I am lucky enough to harvest, and I will learn how to can those that I am unable to finish. I will stain my hands inky purple picking wild blackberries, and I will stuff myself with homemade cobbler that I serve myself first, without guilt. I'll fish all day on the pond bank for catfish, drink cold beer, and pray for rain. And I'll be happy.
Friday, April 13, 2012
The Space Between
In between the spaces of boredom and madness, there's a place called summer break. It is this place that I recently find myself wandering in. What do I do with my days now that work has been cast aside for the next three months? What do I do with my nights now that days don't come so early anymore? What do I do with all this time I have to buck my tradition of wasting it? My mind fills this place with plans, lists, and endless idealized versions of what a "good" day should look like, but my body rarely seems to act upon them. But I have vowed that this summer will be different. This summer, I will actually go to the lake instead of just talking about it. I will work in the yard--pull weeds, tidy up the landscape, and plant new things to admire--instead of planning it in my head and sighing, "...when I have time." I will ride roller coasters at Silver Dollar City until my head spins and rightside-up morphs into upside-down. I will laugh, and eat and drink, roam vintage shops and frequent patio cafes, reveling in the company of friends and the antics of strangers. I will tend my garden and eat the vegetables I am lucky enough to harvest, and I will learn how to can those that I am unable to finish. I will stain my hands inky purple picking wild blackberries, and I will stuff myself with homemade cobbler that I serve myself first, without guilt. I'll fish all day on the pond bank for catfish, drink cold beer, and pray for rain. And I'll be happy.
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