my solar power summer

I haven't written here in a while because I, Blair W. Martin, have been busy. During the twelve weeks that I've been away I have traveled for a journalism conference, started my first job, fallen out of friendship with somebody that I once held dear, started running again, consumed ice cream on a nightly basis, lost a loved one, and experienced a million of memorable moments in between.

I've always had a complex relationship with the summertime simply because the season lacks the buzziness that excites me during the other nine months of the year. Summer is slow, shimmery, deliberate. It's pacing gives people time to really sit with themselves and I think that I've always felt a bit warily about that. Time to sit means time to think and time to think means time to worry---and I have a history of always taking advantage of that time. 

In the past, summer has always gone a similar way: I'd get let out of school, excited about all of the time that lay ahead of me, only to feel pressured by the vastness of that time and fear that I wasn't doing enough with it. It was a cycle fueled by two of my closest friends---anxiety and insecurity---and one so exhausting that it tainted my perception of the season as a whole and led me to feel apprehensive about its annual arrival. 

But something shifted this year. 

On June 10th, 2021 Ella Marija Lani Yelich-O'Connor, professionally known as Lorde, released the title track off of her highly anticipated third studio album. I remember staying up until 11 o'clock the previous night for the song to arrive and immediately knowing after my first listen that it would be a piece of art that I would carry with me.  June 10th, 2021 was the first day of the summer I was sixteen, and in a way Solar Power's lyrics prophesied the weeks that followed. 

"I hate the winter, can't stand the cold // I tend to cancel all the plans (So sorry, I can't make it) But when the heat comes, something takes a hold // Can I kick it? Yeah, I can"

"Forget all of thе tears that you've cried It's ovеr (Over, over, over, over) //It's a new state of mind. Are you coming, my baby?"

Over the past year or so I've developed a habit where I'd check my weather app religiously to see whether or not it was going to be sunny in the future and when talking to a friend about this I jokingly said that I do so so "I can decide what kind of mood I'm going to be in that day." and while I embellished the remark with cheeky emojis to emphasize the intended sarcasm there, I also knew that there was a bit of truth to my statement. 

The impact that the sun can have on the way that we feel has been well documented for years and years. Sunlight helps boost serotonin which inherently leads to people feeling like they're actually walking on the steamy star itself once it hits 75 degrees. I love the sun because I'm a superficial person at my core and just adore the aesthetic of a bright sunny day, and the feeling of the sun on my (sunscreen protected!!!) skin. Yet there's something about opening up the blinds in the middle of July and not seeing that golden globe beaming back at me that's feels relaxing during the thick of summertime, almost like a break. 

This summer Wisconsin was blessed with fabulous, warm weather. It only rained a handful of times and when it did it only added to the beauty of the sky by helping to supplement a stunning sunset later that day. However when the clock struck around six o'clock on these beautiful summer nights I consistently felt this urge to get out and start doing something with someone as somebody. The urge was unshakable and it wasn't simply formed by the weather. 

When widespread COVID-19 vaccine distribution began earlier this year the narrative surrounding the summer of 2021 was that it would be the one where we'd "be outside," and would serve as a proper start to the roaring 20s in a way that 2020's summer couldn't. This narrative was only amplified in my ears as a young person facing the everpresent external encouragement to go and live out my teenage dream. 

I always say that I'm happiest when busy. During the school year it's easy to get swept up into the cyclone of commitments that I've involved myself in. Cross Country practice here, orchestra rehearsal there, student council meeting around the corner, then tie it in a bow and call it a Tuesday. But when summer's hands creeped around and removed that ribbon this year I surprisingly didn't find myself grasping for straws (or thread? can the extended metaphor end here?) trying to replicate the way I feel during the school year. 

There were certainly nights where I'd look out my window around sunset and feel that self-imposed pressure to go out and have the best time ever only to go and have a time that was just a-okay. Consequently some of the grandest nights of the summer were the ones that I didn't plan for. Nights where I (literally) let other people take the wheel and steer me away from my expectations and towards something much better. Those ones were prompted by true spontaneity---not changes in the weather, and were just as powerful.