Summer is a weird time for me. When I was a teenager and worked at camp, summer was what I looked forward to all year; able to rekindle friendships in the kind of setting you don’t get anywhere else. Camp was magic.
When I stopped working at camp, things changed. Part of it was just becoming more adult, and part was the letdown from the magic that was camp to working a “real” job. But even before that, there was a major letdown when camp ended and college hadn’t started up again.
When I started teaching, everything changed.
Teaching is a very intense profession; you’re constantly moving, thinking, feeling, and doing. By summer time, teachers are exhausted, bone-tired. From about January or February, teachers count the days until the summer. We live with the hope that things will change and we will be able to rest.
And then summer comes along. Every summer, I had the same pattern. For a few days to a week, it was bliss not waking up early and not having to go somewhere. Then it hit, every summer.
I hear the same thing happens with retired people. It sounds great and then… depression. A lack of purpose. No set schedule.
I don’t know how I was never prepared for it when it happened every year. Every year I’d be so optimistic that I’d relax and enjoy the summer and have adventures and every year I’d end up crying in my bed, not having to get up to do anything so not getting up and doing anything.
I tried to prevent it. I borrowed dozens of books from friends. One year I borrowed boxes of DVDs from various friends. I planned trips. The trips were great! Every other day wasn’t.
I felt so angry at myself during the summer: who gets depressed about having days off? But each day brought me closer to going back to the regular year and felt like one more missed opportunity. After June 27 the days get shorter. They’re not short – it’s 8:30 pm today, July 17, and it’s still light outside. But they’re shorter than they were, and I can feel summer — and all of my hopes for it — slipping away.
Ironically, summer is my favorite season for many reasons. I love warm weather and long days, and I love warm evenings, although we don’t get them that often here. But somehow, summer being my favorite season makes me more melancholy, because every day means one day less of summer.
Currently I’m not teaching in a classroom. I still work in the summer, but the schedule changes and I have much more free time. No one else seems to though, so I start to get the same feelings. I feel sorry for myself because I have free time but no one to spend it with. I feel resentful that people don’t have time for me. I feel like I’m letting my favorite season slip away because I’m not enjoying it more. I feel sad. Just sad. For no real reason.
And I have a sense of dread because fall comes with a whole different set of triggers. Which makes me more angry about summer feeling so sad.