By Aubrie Edmond, Contributing Writer

Summer is the cruelest season. I spend all year waiting for summer to come, a time for fun and freedom and friends. There’s so much promise and opportunity, but it seems like nothing ever happens. No matter how many things I think I’ll be able to accomplish, plans always seem to fall through. Three months seems like forever, but there’s never enough time.

This isn’t to say that summer isn’t eventful. This year, I celebrated my twentieth birthday. I watched fireworks on the fourth of July, the Barbie movie is coming out, there’s an abundance of concerts I’m excited to see, and yet I still feel like I’m wasting my time. Freedom is a double edged sword. I find myself caught in my own head, cycling through endless possibilities for ways to spend my day until the sun goes down. It seems like everyone around me has it all figured out, trips lined up months in advance and jobs set up through connections they’ve made at school. I always feel left behind, struggling to find ways to fill my time. Most of the time I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself. Summer feels like a time to create and learn new things, but it seems like I can never finish anything I start. I feel so unproductive and it drives me crazy.

The idea of summer is something that is so prevalent in our culture. We have so many expectations for what it should be, and maybe that’s the problem. Maybe summer isn’t about the number of things you’re able to fit into a day or the amount of trips you’re able to take. Maybe it’s about finding ways to be okay with being alone with yourself, making peace with the quiet moments and savoring the beauty in the little things.