Summer’s always been more than a season, right? It’s endless radiance, it’s nature thriving in all its glory, it’s scorched days and picnics in the shade, barefoot strolls through meadows, clear, starry nights filled with whispered promises barely heard over the symphony of cicadas.
Part of why it was especially amazing was because I spent most of it in significantly-less-humid-London, simply living in one of Europe’s largest metropolitan areas. I missed most of unbearably hot New York where we pray for rain in July, where too many tourists, hobbyists, and other -ists crowd around Tudor city and Long Island City to get the perfect photo of Manhattanhenge, and where we only look forward to those ‘perfect’ beach days because it’s one of the few days where everything’s just right. I also — obviously — thought its present ebb and flow was a perfect parallel to my own current experience, ending a monumental chapter to start another. I’d be a fool to try and recreate the feeling again, but would be a bigger fool if I didn’t give gratitude to what brought about those feelings.
Early mornings: my internal clock woke me up before my actual alarm clock but if I got lucky, it was before sunrise so I had a few quiet moments to watch the sun come up over the city and announce that it was, at last, time to wake up.
A (finally) perfect home: with the best flatmates a girl could ask for. :) Meg, Lizzie, Lara, you ladies were the loveliest and some of the best people to live and trauma bond with. (A story for another time, because it’s just too exhausting to recount yet again.)
Hampstead Heath: I always knew I wanted to be around here (while ‘entertaining’ the idea of Camden and Gospel Oak and Belsize Park as simply fallbacks). My friends will tell you it’s because of Harry Styles and I’ll insist/vehemently disagree that it’s ACTUALLY because of George Michael, but the real reasons were probably because the goat, Rabindranath Tagore, lived here when he was in London and because of the heath itself. Running through the trails, sunrises over Parliament Hill, too many afternoons sunbathing in the ladies pond, adventures through the quieter paths, calling NW3 home was the biggest flex.
New memories and old friends: queuing up for far too long to see the Arctic Monkeys for the first — and hopefully not last — time ever with new friends (Isla, Maria, you girls are the sweetest). Gallivanting around Edinburgh and scarring the general manager at Borough while we tried to explain to other friends just why it was a big deal as we made plans to return soon because all of us wanted to run away to Scotland. Lovely weather being the perfect excuse to dress up for Eid celebrations. Eating far too much for Labour Day Weekend and a random Bank Holiday… far too much food for anything, really, because feeding/being fed is my love language. Celebrating, commiserating, and just spending far too long with friends because who really needs an excuse to get together and enjoy great company?
Film noir classics and Wes Anderson aesthetics — Casablanca, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Darjeeling, and Budapest on loop in bed with snacks in my Nappa Dori F tray (rip). These were the best cure for any sleepless night, also possibly an indulgence of my not-so-secret-crush on Adrien Brody.
So, yeah, it’s never just a season. It’s a feeling; an expectation of freedom, of insouciance, and a feeling of nature’s embrace. Unspoken adventures and moments to seize and revel in. Despite the bittersweet aftertaste, Summer, 2023 was easily the best I can remember for a very long time. 10/10, and here’s hoping for an even better Fall.
