Wow, that sounds like such a good name for an indie rom-com. Or maybe it’s already been made.
My summer lasted 178 days.
April 15th I flew out of Washington DC with two suitcases, a guitar, and a plan for the next six months. Almost right away things started changing. Some things went as I thought they would, but most did not. The calendar began to change, and with it, my attitude. The things I had hoped for and clung to began to wash away.
The last date I had set in stone came and went with the end of June, and as I watched it slip away I felt adrift. I was so afraid of being alone without a schedule to graft me into community. I set off on a twelve-hour day of driving; the last five spent by myself. I was exhausted. I had nothing left.
In that moment I was met with comfort and grace. That weekend I saw the miraculous take place in myself and in those around me, and I knew I had been heard. The burdens I had been carrying for so long rolled away, and I realized that while I had been asking all the wrong questions what I really sought to know was whether I was loved. I discovered I am.
I kept plunging through the weeks, and as the people around me began to return to school my summer thundered on. The weather grew cooler, and I finally discovered the date this season would end: October 10th.
Half a year spent in this season I called “summer.” From rainy spring days to cool autumn afternoons, this six month fabricated season was the best summer of my life. It was nothing I had planned and everything I needed.