an ode to my (potentially) last real summer

Summer (for those who still hold the privilege of having one) is always a bit weird. It’s a little hyperreal, a hot, sticky mess of feelings, soul searching, and impulsions. A whole lot of doing nothing, even if you’re doing something.

Sometimes you’re nine years old, going to a summer day camp where you don’t know anyone, and you get invited to pretend to be a Cheetah Girl, but the invite is quickly rescinded because there’s five of you and only four Cheetah Girls (three by the third movie, if they really wanted to be accurate). But it’s okay because you’re nine and all you really care about is the next time you’ll get to eat ice cream.

Or perhaps you’re twelve and you’re staying with your younger cousin in Connecticut for a few months, and he’s driving you crazy but you finally get a taste of what it’s like being the older sibling, and learn to be thankful that you will always be the one doing the annoying. And then the last Harry Potter book comes out and you are both thrilled and saddened to see the last bit of magic in your childhood go. But you get over it quickly when you go to your first co-ed pool party.

Maybe you’re sixteen and taking an SAT prep course in a predominantly Chinese neighborhood, and everyone — including the staff — is surprised to see you be moved up to the higher level class after one week of practice tests. And maybe you just got your license and you accidentally back into your friend’s car in the parking lot after you don’t hear him honking because your rap music is playing too loudly.

Suddenly you’re eighteen and getting ready to leave for college. This is it, your mind tells you. The moment you’ve been waiting for. You are finally free of obligations (for three months) after four years of hard work. So you do some things you never thought you would do before and learn to enjoy these last few moments of moderated innocence, relishing in the inimitable comfort of having a friend group of people who have seen you through every single one of your awkward phases. (Yes, some people have multiple.)

And in the blink of an eye, you are twenty-one and working your first internship and living in a real, grown-up apartment with roommates you adore and can shamelessly re-watch Gossip Girl with. You suddenly realize you are truly on the brink of adulthood when you accept that this may be your last real summer, ever. But the thought of this is terrifying when you don’t know what you want to do after college anymore because of said internship, and all this talk about leases and renters insurance makes your head spin, and guys on Tinder are creepy and guys in real life are confusing.

But hey, gotta make it a summer to remember, right?