One More Breath: Savoring the Summer That's Still Here

There’s a particular kind of sadness that seems to arrive in late August.

The sun no longer sets after 8 p.m. The evenings are beginning to cool down. Summer isn't over—not technically—but you can hear the clock ticking.

And with the end of a season the inevitable inventory.

What did I do this summer? Where did the time go? What happened to all those things on my summer wishlist? How much of it was dominated by my illness?

I found myself doing exactly that as I headed to the beach last week.

At the beginning of summer, I had ambitiously purchased a beach pass, imagining all the early morning sunrises I’d watch and night walks I would take. But there I was, halfway through August, placing my pass on my dash board for the very first time.

What kind of delusion was I having that I thought I was going to start my days at 5 a.m. on the beach? Chronic illness and restless nights have made me many things, but a 5 a.m. beach person is certainly not one of them.

Even on this day, I wasn’t going to the beach for the beach. I was there to see the solar eclipse. Without it, I wonder if my beach pass would have never seen the light of day..

I wasn't dressed for swimming. I wasn’t prepared for leisurely meandering. This was a quick trip to witness something cool and then get on with my day.

Instead, I found something entirely different.

When We Start Counting What's Gone

There's something bittersweet about realizing a season is beginning to wind down, and realizing that it didn’t look the way you imagined it would.

Perhaps the garden didn't get planted. The friends you swore you'd see are still waiting for that text. The perfect summer reads remain stacked on the bedside table. The beach pass got forgotten in the glove box.

That inventory can carry even more weight when you’re managing illness. Plans change because energy changes. A flare takes a few weeks you hadn't intended to give it. Pain takes up more space than you anticipated. Sometimes your body simply isn’t on board with your best-laid plans

It's easy to look backward and see everything that didn't happen.

I could have spent my walk doing exactly that. In fact, I started it with the familiar narrative of self-judgment as my beach pass stared at me mockingly.

Instead, somewhere between my parking spot and the water, I stopped thinking about the summer that had already passed and stepped into the one that was still happening.

The Summer That Was Still There

The beach was alive.

Waves rolled onto the sand. The sky was a perfect blue, with puffy clouds obscuring the sun from time to time.

The wind carried voices from people sitting in beach chairs and the laughter of children playing frisbee. The ice cream truck drove up and down the road singing my favorite tune.

The ocean was surprisingly warm for Maine, so I ventured into the water even though I was absolutely not dressed for it. Soon my feet were plastered in sand and my pants were wet up to my knees.

And for a moment, I was completely there.

Not judging myself for the beach days I hadn't taken. Not wondering how many warm days remained. Not thinking about what I needed to do when I got home.

Just there.

Feet in the sand. Waves lapping at my ankles. Wind against my skin. Sun on my face.

For a few minutes, I stepped completely into my life.

Having a Good Moment Isn't Always the Same as Taking It In

I've been thinking a lot about the work of psychologist Rick Hanson and his idea of taking in the good.

Good things happen around us all the time, but that doesn't necessarily mean we fully experience them or even notice them at all.

We can watch a sunset while thinking about tomorrow’s doctor’s appointment. Drink a delicious cup of coffee while scrolling through our phones. Half-listen to a loved one tell us about their day while mentally working through our to-do list. Walk beside the ocean while regretting all the other days we didn't.

The experience happened, but did we really let ourselves have it?

Taking in the good invites us to approach our experiences differently. When we notice something that feels nourishing, beautiful, comforting, joyful, or simply pleasant, we stay with it for a little while longer.

We bring our full attention to it. We feel it. We let the experience sink into our being. We allow ourselves to be inside the moment rather than immediately rushing toward the next one.

One More Breath

I think sometimes we make mindfulness harder than it needs to be. We imagine that being present requires a twenty-minute meditation, a curated, peaceful setting, or a mind that has somehow agreed to stop thinking.

But presence can be much smaller than that.

When something good catches your attention, stay with it for one more breath. That is the practice in all its simplicity.

When you taste the first really good peach of summer, don't immediately reach for the next bite. Taste this one.

When someone you love hugs you, linger for an extra moment. Be right there.

When your favorite song comes on, actually listen as if you were hearing it for the first time.

When the evening light turns the sky pink, look up and savor the magic of Mother Nature.

When the ocean feels warm around your ankles, feel it.

Let your senses help you stay in the moment.

What do you see? What do you hear? What can you smell or taste? What can you feel against your skin? What happens inside your body when you allow yourself to enjoy this moment?

You don't need to hold onto it forever.

Just don't rush past it.

Savor it for one more breath.

We Can't Hold On

We can't make August stop becoming September, and unfortunately we can’t stop the inevitable march of time toward winter. We can't go back and reshape the days that are behind us. And we can't step into the future and know exactly what the days ahead will bring.

We only ever have the moment we're standing in.

There can be sadness in that—especially when we’re focused on what we’ve missed out on or what we wish had been different. But last week, standing ankle-deep in the ocean in soaking wet pants and a glitching Fitbit around my ankle, it felt different.

It felt like an invitation to let go, for a moment, of the regrets and disappointments of Where did summer go? and step into What is right here, right now?

The feel of sand beneath my toes and the warm sun on my face. The sound of the waves softly crashing on the shore. The smell of the salty ocean water. The sight of the eclipse as the sun dove in and out of clouds.

Summer was fully alive. Fully here. And I was finally there for it.

An Invitation

Maybe there is something good in your life today that deserves one more breath.

The feel of your dog's head resting against your leg. The smell of dinner cooking. The light filtering through the canopy of a tree. The sound of someone in the next room singing badly to themselves. The cold sweetness of a popsicle melting faster than you can eat it.

When you notice it, pause. Let yourself experience it with your senses instead of immediately moving on.

Stay for one more breath.

Maybe two.

Begin to savor your experiences. To bring them fully into your heart, body, and mind.

And today, I invite you to intentionally take in the good five times.

It doesn’t have to take long. If you spend just 30 seconds with each experience, that’s only two and a half minutes of your entire day. Two and a half minutes to notice what feels good. To let it linger. To actually experience the life happening around you.

Because perhaps the ordinary moments of our lives become a little more extraordinary when we give ourselves the time to actually notice them.

Your life is made up of tiny moments.

You deserve to be present for them.

Try It: One More Breath

When something good catches your attention, pause before moving on.

We don't need to capture every beautiful moment, make it last, or turn it into something profound. Sometimes we simply need to give ourselves enough time to actually experience it.

Our senses are doorways into the present moment. Choose one, step through, and stay for one more breath.

SEE: Let your eyes linger. Notice the colors, light, movement, shapes, or tiny details you might otherwise pass by.
Light dancing across the water. A flower growing through the crack in the sidewalk.

HEAR: Listen to what's happening around you. Let the sound reach you before your attention moves somewhere else.
Rain tapping against the window. A sparrow singing her morning song. Garlic hitting a hot pan.

SMELL: Notice the scents around you and take one slow breath to enjoy them.
Freshly cut grass. The pages of an old book. Your passionfruit hand lotion.

TASTE: Slow down for one bite or sip. Notice the flavor, temperature, and texture before reaching for the next.
The first bite of a crisp apple. Cold ice cream on a hot afternoon. The salty crunch of your favorite chips.

FEEL: Notice what feels pleasant, soothing, or comforting against your body.
A breeze against your skin. Your dog's head resting heavily in your lap. Climbing into cool, crisp sheets.

You don't need to move through all five senses or turn this into another practice you're supposed to do in a prescribed way. Simply follow the sense that catches your attention.

Then stay.

One more breath.

Let yourself receive the experience before moving on to whatever comes next.

Give the good moment a little more time to sink in.

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