Summer has always been my favorite season. Bare feet, open windows, fireflies, juicy fruit, lazy bike rides, lobster rolls, green grass… so many simple, mindless pleasures. Given the state of the world, I’m particularly focused on them and the joy they bring this year.
While we flirt with 90 degrees and a drought here in Connecticut, more than half the country is enduring grueling heat. Twelve giant sequoia groves are in grave danger of burning. Europe is on fire. Electrical grids are maxing out and city streets become rivers in downpours. There is no denying we have irrevocably fucked Planet Earth.
In addition to the dire reality of climate change, there is the existential dread of living in this country. A country that doesn’t value women, worships guns, can’t accept that some things, including sexuality, are not black and white, refuses to face its racist heritage, and that is swiftly becoming one of the most regressive places in the world. Where your rights to make choices about your life needs, your health and body, don’t matter. Don’t say it can’t get any worse.
So in between these dreadful times, Andrew and I keep reminding ourselves that we have to find the joy. We have to let ourselves enjoy the beauty of our town, to enjoy rituals like going for a picnic, puttering in our yard, or splurging on a lobster roll. Not that we’re denying that anything is wrong and not taking political, social or financial actions. But we feel so lucky to live in a place that protects basic rights and feels safe and sensible. We are aware of our good fortune and drinking it in.