Every year, summer arrives, and I expect to feel different.
I imagine myself becoming the kind of person who leaves the house for hours with wet hair and no plans, who reads paperbacks in parks and eats popsicles on porches. I always hope the season itself will transform me, at least a little bit.
And every year, instead, I feel like I end up spending June through August the same way I spend the rest of the year: indoors, alternating between staring at my phone and laptop and TV screen, while the season itself happens elsewhere.
I assumed this was just adulthood—that summer only feels magical when you’re young enough to have three months off with no responsibilities. But I’m not so sure that’s true anymore.
What I’ve realized is that I didn’t actually miss summer. I just missed having a season that felt different from the rest of my life.
Adult life has a way of flattening everything into one long stretch of emails, errands, and screens. January and July start looking suspiciously similar. So maybe the goal isn’t recreating childhood, but recreating contrast.
So this year, I’m experimenting.
I’m going to try to build an adult summer that functions more like the ones I remember: more physical, more local, more communal, and as offline as possible.
To start, I hung up a little clay wall “hook” for my phone. Outside of my designated screen time, it lives there now like a tiny ceramic landline from the days of yore. If it rings, I answer it. Otherwise, it stays put.
I also put my laptop on “computer room rules.” It lives in one place and gets used intentionally (and ideally, for whimsical purposes only).
This isn’t meant to be a digital detox. I’m not trying to “optimize my life” or get all holier-than-thou about technology. I just don’t want to spend another beautiful July evening staring at three different glowing rectangles from the couch instead of going outside to touch grass or whatever.
I think a lot of us—especially queer adults, child-free adults, and anyone building a life outside the traditional adulthood scripts—have to be really intentional about creating our own rituals, seasonal rhythms, and community experiences.
Kids get summer handed to them. Schools close, camps start, pools open. But as adults, especially those of us whose lives don't revolve around school calendars or raising children, nobody does that part for us. If we want summer to feel different, we have to create the difference ourselves.
And so: offline summer!
Here’s the scaffolding I’m building to make it happen, plus all the activities/rituals/games/foods/outings/sensory stuff I’m hoping will transport me back to that feeling, as hard to catch as fireflies: summer magic.
Sorry to spoil the fun right off the bat, but: joy isn’t spontaneous, it’s planned.
So, set yourself up for success!
I think the main components to build the foundation for a joyful offline summer are:
A DIY landline: Your phone lives in one physical spot instead of following you from room to room like a cursed little talisman. Maybe it stays there overnight, or maybe until after breakfast, or maybe all weekend. The point is to make checking it intentional instead of reflexive.
Computer room rules: The laptop belongs to one designated area of the house now, just like the family computer did. No bringing it into bed. No balancing it on the couch while half-watching TV. Ideally, you sit down to use it for a specific purpose, then leave it there when you’re done.
If you’re typically dependent on your phone for other things, now might be a good time to invest in a:
The final piece of the offline summer infrastructure puzzle will be stocking up on all the stuff you’ll need to stay cool and comfy throughout the season (think: sunscreen, bug spray, anti-chafing supplies, etc.), which I’ll share in more detail in next week’s post.
You can use mine as inspiration, but I suggest you make your own menus to pick and choose from each day. And I mean that literally! Especially since a lot of the timing and suggestions here are based on my typical 9-5 WFH schedule, and yours may be different.
Figure out what you want to put on your menu, then print or write it out on paper and hang it on the wall somewhere you’ll see it every day.
i.e. before work
Wake up to an alarm clock (or naturally!)
Turn on the radio or a TV show, then either dance around or jump on a little trampoline during commercials or between episodes
Make yourself an easy, nostalgic breakfast: cereal, pop-tarts, etc. (annoying adulthood note: if you’re ADHD like me and need protein in the mornings, I found sneaky substitutes that are still nostalgia-driven for both protein cereal and protein pop-tarts)
Grab a pen and do some word games, a sudoku, or whatever gets your brain grooving in an actual book
over your lunch break
Go for a walk or bike ride without your phone or headphones—remember what your brain used to sound like without input?
Find a nice spot outside to eat your lunch (Lunchables, perhaps?) and read a physical book, draw in a sketchbook, write in a journal, or partake in whatever other analog activity tickles your fancy
Take a nap!!! One of the greatest scams adulthood ever pulled was convincing us this isn’t a legitimate summer activity
after you clock out for the day
Grill your dinner
Arts and crafts time! Work on a DIY project
Play a nostalgic video game or computer game
Take care of your indoor and/or outdoor plant babies (water them, weed their beds, sing to them, whatever)
Watch a movie outside on a projector screen, or inside from a blanket fort
Read outside
Have a fire and roast s’mores
One thing I didn't appreciate as a kid is how much structure was hiding underneath all of our assumed freedom. Summer felt spontaneous, but it was actually full of recurring rituals: swim lessons every Tuesday, softball practice every Thursday, library trips every weekend, etc.
The magic wasn't the absence of structure so much as having the right kind of structure. Recurring obligations are underrated when they’re fun and chosen on purpose!
bc it feels weirdly great to be like “oh, I can’t, I have kickball on Tuesdays”
Swim, tennis, pottery, or sailing lessons
Dance, improv, language, or yoga classes
Woodworking, sewing, or printmaking courses
Kickball, softball, volleyball, or bowling league
Birdwatching walks or gardening workshops through your local parks district
Run club, bike club, walking club, or rollerskating club
A standing “craft night” with friends where everyone brings whatever project they’re working on
part of what made summer feel alive as a kid: it happened in public
Pools
Libraries
Parks
Arcades
Boardwalks
Flea markets
Public beaches
Batting cages
Roller rinks
Local diners
Farmers markets
Drive-in theaters
Anywhere you can think of that will allow you to loiter without demanding that you spend $40
bring back ceremonially kicking off the weekend every Friday
Pizza Fridays
Mini golfing
Going out for ice cream
Game nights
Backyard hangs
Grocery store snack runs
Movie nights
“Everyone come sit on the porch” evenings
Part of what made childhood summers feel so endless was that there was always something coming up. Vacation next month, the carnival next weekend, fireworks on Friday, your cousins visiting in August… anticipation stretched out the season and gave it landmarks.
On the flipside, adulthood tends to flatten time a bit (especially if you work a standard 9-5 job like I do). So, it’s our job to manufacture anticipation on purpose! Put things on the calendar that become tentpoles. Give yourself a reason to count down the days again.
future you is gonna be like, “remember that one summer we went to [awesome place]? that was fucking awesome”
Beach trip
Lake weekend
Camping trip or cabin getaway
Road trip with an aggressively specific playlist
Amusement park pilgrimage
Hike or bike somewhere beautiful
Water park day
the kind that make you giddy to buy your tickets
Concert or music festival
Minor league baseball game
Outdoor movie screening
Shakespeare in the park
Drag show
Wrestling match
Carnival or county fair
Car racing (Nascar felt… too specific to say? but here we are)
Renaissance fair
Fireworks
Any hyperlocal event advertised exclusively through flyers and posters around town
celebrate good times! come on!!!
Backyard BBQ
Pool party
Pride parade
Bonfire night
Rooftop hang
Park picnic
“Everyone bring your favorite summer snack” party
Sleepover (or a sleepaway weekend) with your best pals
I think half of summer nostalgia is actually just environmental storytelling. Certain tastes, smells, sounds, outfits, and activities become so deeply associated with specific moments in our lives that they can transport us instantly.
So the goal isn’t just to “do fun summer things,” but to surround yourself with enough sensory ~texture~ that summer stops feeling like every other month.
These are some of the things that remind me of my childhood summers (as a kid growing up in suburban America in the late ‘90s-early ‘00s).
Think about it: What reminds you of yours?
don’t read on an empty stomach
Popsicles
Lemonade
Ice cream
Hot dogs or burgers from the grill
Beach sandwiches and chips
Capri Suns
Watermelon with salt
Corn on the cob
Tomato sandwiches
Gas station slushies
Strawberries that stain your fingers
Pasta salad at a function
Iced tea in a giant tumbler with a straw
Late-night diner fries
the stuff that makes my brain go “ohhhhh, it’s summer”
Ocean waves
Coconutty sunscreen smell
The sound of the ice cream truck
Citronella keeping mosquitos at bay
Box fans humming at night
Grass sticking to your legs after sitting outside
Cicadas screaming from the trees
The smell of someone grilling or having a fire nearby
summer wardrobes are about becoming at least slightly more whimsical than usual
Baseball caps
Jean shorts
Tote bags full of snacks and sunscreen
Flip-flops that have seen better days
it’s about doing something a little silly, just for the joy of it!
Nostalgic computer games (Neopets, RollerCoaster Tycoon, The Sims)
Throwback video games (Mario Party, Crash Bandicoot, Spyro)
Board games (Ticket to Ride, Wavelength, Codenames)
Actual deck of cards (Spoons, Spit, Capitalism)
Outdoor games (cornhole, ladder toss, Kubb)
Capture the Flag
Water balloon or water gun fights
Sidewalk chalk
Friendship bracelet assembly line
My good pal Anna of All Too Well Read put together a list of books that feel like summer already (she also hosts a summer reading challenge a la Pizza Hut’s ‘90s-era “Book It” challenges on her Bookstagram!) but here are a few of my favorites, too:
That Summer Feeling by Bridget Morrissey
Sandwich by Catherine Newman
Dolly All the Time by Annabel Monaghan
My Friends by Fredrik Backman
Funny Story by Emily Henry
Bad Tourists by Caro Carver
You have to practice! Practice leaving the house without infinite entertainment in your pocket. Practice building anticipation and ritual back into your life.
The goal isn’t necessarily to recreate childhood, but to recreate the conditions that allowed us to feel alive and present in real time.
Maybe by September I’ll still spend too much time on my phone. Maybe I’ll miss a few sunsets because I got distracted by work. Maybe I’ll never become the kind of person who effortlessly frolics through summer with wet hair and no plans.
But if I end the season with a few mosquito bites, some blurry instant-camera photos, a stack of library books with sandy pages, and a calendar full of things I was excited to attend, I’ll call that a win.
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