Of course it’s my fault. Procrastination, laziness, spontaneous social invitations – I let them all have carte blanche over any window of opportunity that may present itself. I admit, I will re-work my to-do list in a heartbeat if my phone rings, it’s a social opportunity and there’s reason to believe there will be coolers present. As I wrestle with the guilt that comes with continuously putting things off, I take a closer look at my embarrassing lack of will-power.
There’s only one thing I can think of – there’s something about summer.
No other season toys with me quite like summer does. I want to cram in as many memory-making activities as I can, it seems. And through my senses, I want to be reminded of summers past – the smell of barbecues, fresh-cut grass and coconut suntan lotion; smelling like a campfire, swimming until you’re starving and heading indoors long after dark on an amazingly warm evening. The list is far from complete. And, for fear of feeling like summer has passed me by, I have to make sure to check a hot dog, watermelon and a few ice-cream cones off my ‘must-have’ list.
Inevitably, as August rolls around, I start feeling that familiar sense of panic – the days are noticeably shorter, I haven’t got a great tan yet and there’s only one more long weekend. I’m frantic, trying to come up with ways to slow the passing of each day. I try to hang on to summer, holding it close, only to get into the inevitable tug-of-war with Mother Nature. Despite the annual self-talk, it never seems to get easier.
But then, as the days get cooler and I pull my favorite cozy sweaters out of the depths of my closet, I’m reminded of how much I love the changing of the seasons. As I start closing the windows at night and begin putting pants on for the first time in a long time, I acknowledge the bittersweet transition. It’s the end of hot summer days, but the beginning of fresh, crisp ones. I no longer live on salads and easy meals, but reach for the crockpot and my favorite ‘feel good’ soup recipes. As I say goodbye to the swims in the lake, I look to my bathtub for that warm, relaxing ritual that had been put on hold.
As I lay out my plan of attack that will transform my somewhat disheveled home into a clean and de-cluttered sanctuary, I feel content. I don’t regret a thing. There are no vows to do it differently next year, no promises to self to be more disciplined. Because although I might struggle with prioritizing my days, there’s a realization that enjoying the moments of my life will always trump housework – and I’d have it no other way.
Photos by Carol Good – all rights reserved