Taking Back Sunday

I do a lot of recruiting at work, and one question that comes up often this time of year is from interns, curious about returning full time to the company next year: “If I have the choice between starting in June or August, which should I choose?”

They usually say this with a little grin. Both of us know the answer to that question is an emphatic “AUGUST.” Two more months of summer? Before jumping off the deep end into a career? Of course that’s the choice they want to make. It’s the choice they should make.

But they’re usually not really asking for my opinion. What they want is my endorsement. A confirmation that yes, I am six years out from college and yes, given the choice to go back and have two extra months of freedom I would take it, ten times out of ten. They want the jaded guy to tell them to enjoy it while it lasts.

And it’s true: Those two extra months of my own “last summer” were that important. When I graduated from college, I spent six weeks in South America, first in Brazil with a friend and then in Peru with my sister. By some measures it was a long trip – I’d kill to take off six weeks now – but by others it was quite short. Most people I met were traveling for much longer. One couple I got to know decently well had been at it for almost a year (and seemed to be getting along really well!).

Those six weeks, and the rest of the time leading up to the first day of my job in August, had one thing in common: They were carefree. There was this day, off in the distance, in which I would have to start caring about things, but for a period of time I had not one single responsibility. One day on the trip, waiting for my sister to arrive in Lima, I walked to a sandwich shop, read for a few hours, and then went back to my room and read some more. I spent the entire day with my face in a Kindle. I had nowhere to be and nothing to do.

The mythology of that “last summer” resonates strongly in our culture. One day we’re these kids cycling through school years and summer breaks and then all of a sudden, it’s our last one. But what we mean when we bemoan the loss of summer isn’t the loss of three months off from work and responsibility. That would be nice, but I’m not sure most of us would even take the time if we had it. 55% of us already don’t use all our vacation. We probably don’t need more of it.

Because adults do have summers. For my friends and I, privileged as we are, summer means weekend trips and nice meals, accentuated at some point by an entire week or two of vacation in which work is, hopefully, pushed aside. Particularly in New York, a city that’s actively avoided by many residents in the summer, those who can travel do. So vacation time isn’t the problem.

What we’re really mourning is that carefree feeling. The peace of mind that allows you to sit somewhere with a book and read through dinner, or get home late and ignore the laundry, or wake up and take on the day in a complete silo, with no thought to the next one. We miss the peace of mind of being a kid.

But that’s changing. Many of us are no longer forced to share our vacations with work, a pile of laundry and a waiting grocery list. The past year has allowed us to take back our Sundays, and in so doing take back our summers.

Now a weekend trip is really that. All the anxiety-inducing crap that we used to save for late on a Sunday night, sunburned and exhausted, can be done on Monday. Lunch can be made at home. Clean clothes are… less important. You can sleep in and exercise! All while fully enjoying that Sunday in the summer.

That was me, last night. A few thousand feet in the air, on my way home from North Carolina, writing this newsletter at 8:30pm on a Sunday night. Relaxed with the knowledge that I could type it up this morning. Ready to jump back into my book once I’d set down my pen. The vacation still going.

The book, A Year In Provence, is a 200 page daydream about a simpler life in the South of France. The perfect summer read for what is feeling like my first real summer in a long time.

“On the way home, we noticed that the combination of food and Sunday has a calming influence on the French motorist. His stomach is full. He is on his weekly holiday. He dawdles along without being tempted by the thrills of overtaking on a blind bend. He stops to take the air and relieve himself in the bushes by the roadside, at one with nature, nodding companionably at passing cars. Tomorrow he will take up the mantle of the kamikaze pilot once again, but today it is Sunday in Provence, and life is to be enjoyed.”

– Emmett

What I’m Reading:

Why People Are So Awful Online – Roxanne Gay, New York Times
“Every harm is treated as trauma. Vulnerability and difference are weaponized. People assume the worst intentions. Bad-faith arguments abound, presented with righteous bluster.”

The Myth of the Winnable Culture War – Matt Taibbi
“As any married person knows, there are certain words you never say in a fight, because you’ll still be living together when it’s over. Americans, like it or not, are married to one another. That’s not accommodationist talk, it’s just fact. The people we disagree with aren’t going anywhere, and it makes more sense to talk to them than not.”

What I’m Listening To:

Hugh Jackman – The Peter Atia Drive
“The world will always need people who are going to do what they love. But know when enough is enough. More is not always better in terms of consuming or just achievement. Be disciplined about doing less.”

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Semi-regular thoughts on the good life and personal growth.