It’s the middle of my third Maine summer and I've discovered something unsettling about myself: I’m not very good at enjoying summer.
Here’s a snapshot to help explain what I mean: It's 2 PM on a Tuesday. The sky is that impossible shade of blue, it’s a perfect 78 degrees, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of pine and salt air…through my office window. And here I am, sitting at my desk, staring out at the world like a caged animal, practically vibrating with the need to be anywhere but here.
This is my Maine summer neurosis in full display.
Having spent my childhood, and thirteen years of adulthood in Florida, I’ve grown accustomed to the year having just two seasons: “sunny-and-perfect” and “crazy-humid-but-still-sunny”. As a result, I really enjoy the warm weather, and have probably taken it for granted. If we didn’t get to the beach or the trails this week, it’s no big deal because we can just go next week (or any week!). Maine, by contrast, has four very distinct seasons, all with their own charm (except spring which is mostly just wet and cold), but summer is really magical - and it is precious because it’s fleeting.
And therein lies my problem. I've turned Maine's dreamy summers into a scarcity mindset nightmare.
Every rainy Saturday feels like a personal affront. Every work commitment during peak hiking weather sends me into a mild panic. I've developed all sorts of elaborate schemes to optimize my daily schedule. I check weather forecasts obsessively. And I am almost making plans for next Friday afternoon. When friends suggest indoor activities on beautiful days, I look at them like they've suggested we burn money for warmth.
It's mentally exhausting. And more importantly, it's missing the point entirely.
The irony isn't lost on me. In my desperate attempt to maximize every moment of summer, I'm actually experiencing less of it. I'm so busy calculating the opportunity cost of each choice that I’m forgetting to fully appreciate all of the wonderful things I’m able to do. Should I ride my mountain bike this afternoon or try to sneak in 9 holes of golf? Should we try to get to the ocean this weekend or head over to the mountains? Are these outdoor projects stealing all of my fun time? The result of this approach, of course, is that I'm filling the season with more stress than joy.
Here's what I'm slowly learning: the scarcity that makes Maine summers precious is a feature and not a bug. Maine summers, and our lives in general, are not meant to be optimized or maximized or squeezed dry. They're meant to be savored and appreciated for the beautiful gifts that they are. Savoring requires presence, not planning. It demands that you sink into moments rather than rush through them toward the next one.
I know this. But I’m bad at it.
Over the past couple of weeks Jeni and I have adjusted our approach. We’ve skipped a concert, cancelled a trip, and have re-committed to doing more around the house. We’re remembering an old lesson, that saying “yes” to what’s most important often requires saying “no” to things that also feel important. In the process, we are seeing that all of life is like this, not just summer. It is beautiful because it is finite. And rather than trying to go out and find more of it, we’re trying instead to remember that we already have plenty…especially if we’re present for it.
I'm beginning to understand that while Florida may offer more sunshine, Maine still offers plenty, it just demands a different approach to enjoy it: less grasping, more receiving. Less optimizing, more being. Maine summer—and life in general: is not a problem to be solved or a system to optimize. It is a gift to be received, one imperfect, irreplaceable moment at a time.
The weather will do what it does. And summer, in all its brief glory, will unfold exactly as it should—if I just let it.
