Photo by the author

And now, just like that, it’s over. How can summer abandon us so quickly? Surely, it’s not truly September. Surely, three months haven’t passed already.

Oh, damn.

Time is like one of those trick mirrors in a funhouse. For me, it elongates in winter, and it’s magically shortened in summer. The interlude between spring and fall is never long enough.

Summer, my favorite season. As a university professor, I adore the break from teaching. And as someone prone to seasonal depressions, I delight in the light and energy and good cheer that the longer days bring.

Big Island, Hawaii, last month. Photo by the author.

It’s worth acknowledging that, I know, some people hate summer. Some people hate cats, too, or chocolate, which are equally unfathomable to me. Different strokes, as they say. I could certainly do without triple-digit temperatures, wildfires, and hurricanes in the world. Still, summer’s long days, warmth, and freedom are precious.

Grieving What’s Lost (for Now)

For those of us who now must part from our favorite season for nine long (and will seem even longer months), it can be a time of true grief, as the writer Cody Delistraty wrote yesterday in the New York Times:

It comes gradually at first, then, like the Hemingway-ism, suddenly. Beach chairs fold up. Kayaks return to garages. Speculative camping trips remain just that. The plans and possibilities of summer cease.

The season’s conclusion can spark a sense of loss. That might sound like an overstatement, but as with any experience that ends too soon, there’s a sense that something has been missed out on, that feelings and moments remain just beyond our grasp.

Yes, summer’s end is a time to recognize all that you didn’t do, despite your heartfelt intentions. Friends you didn’t see enough. Places you didn’t visit. Goals you didn’t achieve.

Unfulfilled Summer Resolutions

There were so many things I meant to do this summer. Finish the draft of my book in progress. Organize my study, our basement, and every bathroom drawer. Catch up on my to-do list. Like New Year’s resolutions, those goals came to taunt me in their stubborn resistance to being crossed off a list.

It didn’t help that I got Covid the second week of August, which morphed my goals into outright fantasy. Or that even when I recovered, overwhelming fatigue refused to leave, and a headache and sore throat occasionally returned for two more weeks.

All wasn’t lost, of course. I did write whole new chapters and edit others for my book project. I can at least see the surface of my desk in my study — well, not the entire surface, but enough to know that something solid is, in fact, propping up my computer monitor and keyboard. One bathroom drawer is organized.

Vacationing with Pete on the Big Island, Hawaii, last month.

And I enjoyed myself on various travels. A wondrous vacation on the Big Island in Hawaii, with lots of cobalt blue waters and snorkeling, fish dinners and pina coladas. A long weekend in Vail with my husband. A two-person writing retreat with a dear friend in her mountain home. A laughter-filled visit with Mom at my childhood home in Texas.

I’m grateful for all I gained this summer, even while I mourn its departure. There is some truth to the statement supposedly (but not actually) made by Dr. Seuss: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” Some truth, but also fallacy. If only we really could dictate the emotions that come to us, turning them on and off like a lightbulb. Feelings don’t work that way, but reflecting on time’s gifts with gratitude often can help soften the sharp edges of grief.

I’m grateful for the warm water lapping at my ankles in Hawaii. For the schools of yellow tangs I saw snorkeling, along with many other marine creatures, such as moray eels, sea turtles, and even a spotted eagle ray. I’m grateful for the sunsets in Fairplay that revealed the mountains’ purple majesty. For all the time with my husband and other family and cats and friends – and myself.

Sunset in Fairplay, CO, in July. Photo by the author.

Making it Through the Darkest Months

Now, like millions of other people in the northern hemisphere, my mood and energy levels will almost certainly transform in the months to come. And not in a the way I’d like. Honestly, I think I’m a bear in a human’s body. Not growling or vicious like a grizzly, but compelled to hibernate. To hide out in a cave and sleep through the darkened days. I can’t honor that instinct, of course, and it takes a lot of energy to fight it.

Over the years, I’ve developed some ways to cope with summer’s exit. For one thing, starting in fall, I use a light therapy lamp to help compensate for lost sunlight. I strive to keep a diligent habit of exercise, regular sleep, and connection with friends. I give myself grace – or try to – when I feel lazy or unmotivated. This December, I’m going to St. Martin with a college friend for a mid-year taste of summer.

There are other things you can do, too. A recent Time article listed many ways to fend off end-of-summer blues: Spend time outside in natural light. Create manageable expectations to reduce anxiety. Also, set new goals. Be playful; do fun things. When looking at your summer, watch out for should’s. (Like, “I should’ve finished my book. I should’ve organized all the bathroom drawers.”) Cultivate acceptance of what is, versus what we want, with mindfulness practices like meditation.

Flowers in Vail, CO, in June. Photo by the author.

Also, permit yourself to grieve. The New York Times essay that I mentioned earlier notes that some people might roll their eyes at the idea of mourning the transition from August to September:

The truth is that loss is relative. If it’s significant to you, even if it’s about something intangible — like losing your sense of purpose or a state of mind or even your summer without feeling you’ve made the most of it — it’s legitimate. It’s not up to others to decide for you.

The most potent salve is reminding myself that summer will, as it always does, come again. I’m already thinking now of what I hope to do next time. And I’m hoping that next time, maybe, it won’t fly by so fast.

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If you love summer, too, what helps you to get through its absence? Let me know in the comments, if you’re so inclined.