There’s still sand at the bottom of my backpack from the shells that I collected in Fire Island, a New York subway pass stuck at the bottom of my wallet that allowed me to explore the city through its veins, multiple “goodbye, miss you already” messages lingering at the bottoms of my text conversations with friends that live across the country, a burnt wick dwindled down to its core lying at the base of my coconut-lime candle that I bought at a flea market in Maui, a fading stamp to Mexico sitting on the last page of my passport, square polaroid photos of our days in Malibu and nights in Hollywood stacked in the bottom drawer of my nightstand, and the rhythm of this time of my life still thumping through the bass notes of my “Summer 2019” playlist that I’m listening to as I write this reflection.
The remnants of this past summer might remain in these bottom compartments of my life, but their memories live-on top of mind – as if these past three months all took place just yesterday.
The summer of 2019 was the summer of many things…
It was the summer of dancing through my parents’ backyard to celebrate my sister’s and my birthdays, under a sea of red umbrellas that hung upside down above a white dance floor on the lawn. We swayed to Spanish guitars and chased one margarita with another until we fell into a total trance of tango and tequila.
It was the summer of spontaneity – of waking up on a Sunday morning and planning to set out on a classic LA hike with friends, and ending that same night by the beach, toasting to the sunset unfolding before our eyes.
It was the summer of sunblock – buying a bottle and not using it because we wanted to get tan, ending our beach days red like lobsters and ending those nights with prayers that our burns would soon turn into the perfect golden hue that would last forever. Sometimes they didn’t – but at least we had hope.
It was the summer of eastern sunrises – and staying up until dawn beachside just to watch its colors delicately explode in the sky before us.
It was the summer of eating raw cookie dough and drinking rosé from the bottle in makeshift beds brought to life by outdoor lounge-chair cushions dragged inside onto the floor – and waking up on them feeling as though we had slept on goose-down.
It was the summer of dance – underneath the sunlight in Central Park next to a picnic blanket to the sound of a tiny speaker, and beneath the glare of a giant disco ball beaming above us on the dance floor, where we left our hearts and some confessions along the way – ones that made us smile and others that cut through us like knives. (Who knew that the dance floor is a place that can make us feel as vulnerable as it can make us feel empowered?)
It was the summer of realizing what we want, and standing up for that want, and making it happen.
It was the summer of growth and progress and perseverance and dedication, and hoping that all the hard work I put into building up the bricks of my own business will someday turn into an unshakable empire.
It was the summer of reconnecting with family members that visited from further, more cultured corners of the Earth – and picking up right where we left off a few years ago.
It was the summer of Mom’s homecooked Persian food served with as much flavor as there is love in every dish.
It was the summer of rain and thunderstorms – staying dry and hiding from them beneath a giant hut in Puerto Vallarta, and then embracing the damp as we danced through the storm once we had to leave our temporary straw-shelter behind.
It was the summer of temporary tattoos, and the heart-shaped tan lines they’d leave at the brims of our bathing suits.
It was the summer of writing post cards and messages with incorrect grammar for the sake of evoking emotion – and feeling so right doing so.
It was the summer of California palm trees – and gazing at them, rows at a time, as they’d fill my sight whenever I’d look up to the sky.
It was the summer of crisp white apartment walls and filling their faces with vibrant pieces of art – and making my version of a house feel like a home.
It was the summer of laughter.
It was the summer of unexpected discovery.
It was the summer of tears – both the happy and sad ones.
It was the summer of transformation.
It was the summer of nerves and risks and taking them.
And most of all, it was the summer of being twenty-five, moving from New York across the country to LA, and trying to grasp this thing called life without holding onto its reins too tightly. Allowing my heart and my mind to catch up to one another, and learning the difference between being a hopeless romantic and a smart one. Finding myself, creating myself, building myself, loving myself, loving others, and wiping away the fog in our sunglasses and dusting off the sand from our laps to see and stand up with pride and bravery, as we take our next steps into adulthood – all in these few shorts months we call “summer,” where the lines between mundane and magical intertwine and dance to the beat of an irresistible synth-pop anthem, creating a moment in time that’s as temporary as it is endless.
This summer made me realize that sometimes, all it takes is a rise in temperature for us to gain the courage, excitement, will, hope, fortitude, perspective, and passion to live to our fullest capacity and potential – no matter where in this world we find ourselves. It doesn’t matter if we’re at the top of a skyscraper in New York City or at the bottom of a bottle of Cabernet in California. Perhaps summer is more-so a state of mind than it is merely a season – and with that comes the opportunity to simply be, more colorfully and unabashedly than we ever thought was possible.
As it turns out, the grains of golden sand at the bottoms of our backpacks will eventually fall out and the shells we collected at the beach will crack. The polaroids will gradually fade and our warm caramel tans will transition into chestnut-colored leaves that hang above us. The beats that once swept the dancefloor will become faint echoes, and our beachside sunrises will survive as glowing pixels in our phones.
So, with this cycle, perhaps the most poignant part of summer is its ending, serving as a reminder that life doesn’t stop for us; it goes on. And while its memories will live-on vividly, top of mind, we must live it fully, in real-time, while we can.
Summer 2019, if only you could have lasted forever. Thank you for the memories, the joy, the heartbreaks, the lessons, the celebrations, the adventure, the growth, and all the mindless moments in between that were, simply and effortlessly, beautiful.
Until we do our dance again…
Yours, Always,
