I start appreciating how the taste and feel of summer changes with the progression of time. From tingly excitement of June, peaking at the solistice and the beginning of vacationtime, to the heady enjoyment of July to the semi-nostalgic joy of August, like a late-night part of a party, when only the closest and the most intimate remain, like pronounced tannins in late-season wine. August tastes sweet and bitter, heavy on the tongue and I love it more with every passing day.

I am always the one to get excited about sunsets, the one who listens to the music playing in the background. The one who smiles and lipsyncs to a song playing in my earbuds then stops when she realizes that someone is watching. Who do you do? You’re too old for this. What will they think? Today, I stopped myself and then carried on. What will they think? I don’t know, but the joy and pleasure I feel is more important than how this joy will look like to an outside observer.

I was late for a meeting today. Not my day, I said when finally jumping on a Zoom call. I lied. It was totally my day. From waking up from a good dream, morning yoga and walking my kids to their activities, a good working day, a lunchtime swim, a conscious decision of letting go when my daughter refused to go to her soccer practice and then a wonderful walk with my children full of rainbows, ice-cream, flaming red sunset skies and loud laughter. It was totally my day. It totally was. I am grateful.