Brain Rot Summer

 

It’s summer. And, if my stress levels after a quick perusal of email this morning are any indication, not a moment too soon. My patience is shot.

On Sunday, The New York Times had an article on the merits of just letting kids “rot” over the summer, rather than scheduling them for camps, lessons, and constant enrichment. The fear—they might just do…nothing.  Hang out. Stare into space—or on their phones. Mess around. Be bored. It sounded like most of my summers growing up. My cousins and I spent long hours balancing on inner tubes in the lake, toughening up our feet to walk across the spiky gravel in the driveway, tying willow branches together to make “houses” and begging my father to jump the wake of our old wooden speedboat he had purchased with my grandfather. I also spent hours reading, wandering the woods, watering my small garden, and imagining whole worlds.  Days talking just to the dog. My mother and my aunt had a running game of Rummy; the loser had to buy the winner a drink when they went out for the weekly shopping on Friday night. Sometimes, they took one of us along. Usually, they did not. It was clearly a Brain Rot type of summer. I loved it.

For the past seven or eight years, I have used the summer as time to learn everything I need to know to make good decisions on council this winter. It is a slow time for council—we shut down for a couple of weeks and, because staff is gone on vacations, the work load is light. I volunteer. I talk with people. I observe and organize meetings in the park. I read about economic inequality and homelessness.  I also stay pretty close to home; we had an elderly cat that I was reluctant to leave for more than overnight and it has grown more difficult to camp and hike in the Cascades, between permit systems and wildfires.  It has always felt like a good use of my summertime.

This summer, I am rethinking that plan. I am on my last nerve more often than I should be. The chaos at the federal level, the fiasco and its aftermath on council, and AI cheating at school have all worn me down. If I want to make it through next winter, something has to shift. This is my plan:

1.       Schedule all of the volunteering and meetings on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, leaving long swaths of time open for Brain Rot and long walks.

2.       Potlucks. More sharing of food. Every fourth Saturday—except in June, when it will be the fourth Friday.  

3.       More camping in the Ark—two or three night outings, plus an overnight or two at a trail head. I am laying the dates out today.

4.       Hiking and walking. The most restorative thing I can do is a long quiet walk and sitting in the sun, staring a trees or rocks.

5.       Kittens. Soon, but not yet.

6.       Read.

7.       Can jam and pickles. We are getting low!

This is where others can help:

Send an early adolescent my way to house sit-- it's just checking that the chicks haven't kicked over their water.

1.       Come to dinner! Eat pie. J

2.       Join me on walks! We can ban all political conversation.

3.       Share the harvest.

4.       Post happy photos. I don’t want to be a bliss ninny, but a constant barrage of political chaos does not help anyone.

5.       Work locally for change. It is the first place you can make a difference. More people need to take up the work.

We are all in this world for the long haul. We have to learn to balance inner and outer selves.