how to have a great summer

(2:31) fitting in perfect summer moments the last few weeks of the season

I’m at the Victorian in Santa Monica, a bar in a two-story white house with flaky-barked trees in the front, stringed lights between them. It’s Thursday evening, which you may know is salsa night and based on last week’s letter, you may also know that being repeatedly asked by strange men to dance is kind of my worse nightmare atm.

But I did dance! With a vaguely European man who gave me teaching notes like, “Stand tall—you’re a princess,” and, “Do less.” And a man who cradled my head when he dipped me and a man wearing a small birthday hat. They were serious dancers that twirled and tossed me. I laughed and had fun even though I resisted at first. (And even though after each dance, I scurried away as soon as possible.)

I’ve come tonight with a friend from business school who’s visiting from abroad for work—she loves to salsa. Work at the café at ten tomorrow.

(I was tucked away in the front yard of the house/bar while I wrote this, hidden from the ballroom. It’s the next day now.)

Reader, are you having a great summer? Are you H.A.G.S.?

Last Saturday, for my monthly journal party, I wrote prompts about how summer isn’t quite over yet, despite the marketing of Big Autumn. While there’s still time, what might one do to round out their summer and feel satisfied with it?

I don’t typically answer my own prompts but that one returned to me throughout this week. It reminded me of being a kid and writing summer bucket lists; and that melancholic feeling you got when you were growing up and realized summer vacation didn’t hit the same anymore (or the coziness of fall or the magic of any holiday).

You kind of realize that if there’s going to be childlike magic, you’ve got to make it for yourself now. Well, it’s been a childlike summer week for me and the girls. There’s been a breakup in the group, so we’ve been together and pointedly active.

Someone was house-sitting and we drank rosé by the pool. Raced each other in the water—frantic splashing and cackles; I was in last place by miles. Vegan hot dogs in the kitchen, showers, take out and a movie. One of us kept shushing the other two for wanting to yap the whole time.

And we went to the beach for sunset one day, but the air and water were so good that we swam half-dressed in waves that got kind of scary (in a fun way). I peeled off my wet shirt for my sweater and put on damp jeans behind the car on PCH; ended up leaving my shoes there so we came back for them the next morning. And there they were, dusty and neatly paired on the side of the road. Socks tucked in them.

Twenty-four more days of summer, reader. Even the heat in L.A. is giving small hints toward (eventually) breaking. Was there magic you hoped to fit in before then?

Hope you’re well.

Yours,

Z