Goodbye, Summer. Hope to see you in person next year.

Goodbye, Summer. Hope to see you in person next year.
Summer daddy-daughter walks can hopefully be maskless in 2021.

Hey, Summer. Been thinkin’ about you a lot lately. The influencers have moved on from you, posting about Pumpkin Spice Lattes and over-the-knee boots for a couple weeks now. As is their seasonal duty, they’re trying to tell me that it’s time to move on. To dust off my chunky sweaters and those fuzzy socks I bought in March, to let go of your 90-degree days and impromptu ice cream trips as if you were nothing more than a sweltering fling.

It’s been fun, kind of. It’s like you were here, but not. Physically I felt your presence, but it’s like you were emotionally somewhere else, thinking of the days gone by where patios were the best summer seating option, but not the only option.

It was a tough summer. Literal roller coaster rides were replaced with emotional ones. Summer gatherings with friends turned to awkward conversations about social distancing etiquette. The question “should I take my shoes off?” became “Should I keep my mask on?”

We watched friends and family struggle with everything under the hot summer sun, from e-learning and childcare, to illness and death, job loss and economic demise, while probably experiencing some of it ourselves, as uncertainty lingered in every corner.

As we say goodbye, I know there are no immediate solutions that come with the turning over of the season. Unfortunately our problems are systemic and seismic, and just because our Instagram feeds are changing from sunflower farms to pumpkin patches, that doesn’t mean our problems get archived so we can laugh about them when they pop up in our memories a year from now. They are long-lasting and they are real.

But the one hope I have for you, Summer, is that next year you’ll be back in full force. That you’ll show up with frozé in both hands, having tossed your athleisure aside for a floral sundress, ready to be photographed in the sun’s golden light, the summer of 2020 a distant, unsettling memory.

Here’s to hope. Xo,
Nat

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