Summer ... isn't over
is this my fault?
So, last week I got on here with my emo ass “August slipped away” BS and while sure, yes, August is indeed behind us—September is here in full force with her 107 fucking degree attitude in Los Angeles. I mean, I mentioned this last week—September (and usually October) bring ridiculous heatwaves to California pretty much every year, but given the erm... rising temperatures, the autumnal heatwaves of yore are far behind us. We used to be like, sweating our asses off in 94 degrees with our pumpkin spice lattes, and now... now we are attempting to eat our pumpkin muffins through 107 degrees, babe. It’s fine. 94 degrees sounds like a crisp breeze to me now. No worries at all!
I was prepared to switch into soup and Counting Crows mode and lightly start putting some of the Halloween decorations up (yes, I am that person), but with five full days of 100+ degrees, it feels against the law to participate in such events. However, Gilmore Girls is on in the house while the AC pumps its little heart out—but, tbh, Gilmore Girls is never not on in this house. I don’t need a season or apple-picking energy to hear those la la la las. Like “unwritten core,” living my life in a perpetual state of “autumn in Stars Hallow” is one of the other lifestyles I strive for.
Summer makes me moody; I wrote a song about it. I don’t enjoy being hot; I love the sun; I am a solar-powered person 100%; but I hate sweating. And one thing I inherited from my Italian father is his sweating. I will sweat no matter where I am. It could be snowing, I’d be sweating. You throw pregnancy in the mix? Woo boy. Toss a coin at me and make a wish, for I have become a sweat fountain. People are always like, “Saunas are good for you!” and I’m like, show me the nearest exit for the love of GOD. I don’t want to sit somewhere where the goal is to intentionally sweat my ass off???!!!! That doesn’t seem fun (or healthy?) for me. Give me the sunshine and a mid-70s forecast (I’ll even take mid- to low-80s at this point), and I am good to go. Do I need a sweater? A jean jacket? A light long sleeve? Perfect. Let’s go, girls.
There is a line in one of my favorite Rilo Kiley songs, Does He Love You?, where my queen Jenny Lewis sings, “I guess it’s spring; I didn’t know, it’s always 75 with no melting snow.” I remember being 17 years old and driving in my red Ford Focus, which, by the way, didn’t have air conditioning—a horror movie story line for an LA driver—and I would scream sing that lyric over and over again because I felt in my fucking soul. Growing up in LA, I didn’t really experience seasons, and because I was an emotional emo girl who wore skinny scarves and flannels, I wanted to. I wanted to smoke parliament lights outside of a bookstore and read Charles Bukowski while drinking my chai tea, wearing a wool peacoat. I did these things anyway. In Pasadena. While it was hot. I was committed to the bit. I ditched school. I pouted and wrote in my LiveJournal about how unfair it was that LA didn’t experience seasons.
Speaking of LiveJournal, sometimes writing this makes me feel like I’m back at the PC computer in the den of my parents house. Not to toot my own horn, but... I was sort of an LJ celebrity back in the day. I don’t know why or how, but people “knew” me, ok? I once went to see The Cure in Orange County, and a handful of people approached me and said, “Are you BestShoesOn from LiveJournal?” (another Rilo Kiley reference). Now, we have influencers who sell you fast fashion crop tops and snake oil supplements. Back then it was just writing about your angst and posting angular selfies from your digital camera—really, not all that different than what I am doing here, lol.
I don’t fully know what it was about blogging, but it gave me a sense of purpose then. It was a place for me to explore my teen angst and my moodiness around living in a city where the leaves do indeed turn brown, but mostly because they are thirsty from living in an urban desert that doesn’t provide them with many beverages. It was a place for me to connect with other teenagers, both ones I knew and didn’t know, and commiserate over our suburban existence, which, in hindsight, was really quite lovely and nice—but at 16, you want the exact opposite of what you have. At least I did. I wanted fall weather, parents who were a little more lenient, and a cool older sibling. Instead, I got brutally hot summers (nowhere near compared to what they are now), parents who kept me on a short leash (literally, I will talk more about this another time), and a life of only childom. But again, a fine, great life.
I had a wonderful best friend, Jessica, who is still my best friend and is literally sitting across the table from me at the moment. She’s visiting from Northern California, a part of CA that actually does (mostly) have seasons, and one of my other best friends, Alex, is currently on a plane flying here from New York, a place with literal, actual seasons, so that the three of us can go to Ojai for the weekend for one last hurrah BFF trip before I pop this little baby out of my body later in the year. I have been friends with both of these people through so many seasons of life. Real geographical ones, fake California ones, and metaphorical ones. I’ve cried over not having adequate air conditioning in heatwaves with both of them, on both coasts of this country. No matter the literal season, these friends have been there for me through so much life. Jessica, since the teenage blogger years, and Alex since the “I’m going to move to New York to become a writer and then leave a year later to start a band” years. We’ve witnessed a lot of change within each other over the years; we’ve all fought and made up; we’ve all complained about weather and angst, and here we are... headed out on a road trip in 108 degrees to create new memories in a new season.
One of the things I hear most about becoming a parent, specifically a mom, is how much you evolve and change as a person. How you meet a new version of yourself on the other side of birth. How the moment your baby looks you right in the eyes for the first time, a whole new universe opens up to you. You forget all about the annoying heatwaves and the angsty years of being a teen blogger, click-clacking your problems away into the ether—a whole new season of life begins. One that is harder and more powerful than any unseasonal heatwave, something you could not possibly even begin to understand what it feels like until it happens. I used to fear this idea of change; now I welcome it. Like most things in life that I create, I am trying to work on walking into motherhood with low expectations because I really have no idea WHAT it is going to be like. I’ve read all the books, listened to the podcasts, done the guided hypnobirthing meditations—and still, I have no idea. I know it’s going to be HARD and exhausting in a way I have never experienced before. I like to think I will do okay with the not sleeping part, touring for nearly 15 years and all. Being on tour is like sleepwalking through life in so many ways; you just learn to navigate your existence on 4 hours of sleep with the worst hangover of your life. You have to goo goo ga ga your way through a 90-minute set no matter how deeply you just want to be alone in a hotel room eating macaroni and cheese from room service with Shark Tank on the TV.
Look. I am not dumb. I know having a baby is not exactly like going on tour, but it does teach you how to survive whilst being wildly uncomfortable. It is one of the most amazing, colorful, joyful experiences, and also one of the most chaotic, groggy, smelly, and sweaty experiences. It is both adult summer camp filled with inside jokes and late-night ice cream, and also an episode of Survivor where you’re awake at 6 AM looking for somewhere to poop! Motherhood seems to be... a little bit like this! Perpetually existing in a both/and space. I think I’m pretty good at living there. I’ve been doing it for a lot of my life, but check back with me on this in December and we’ll see how much of a student of nuance I really am.
Maybe the both/and lesson for me this week is that when you think Summer is over... it’s not. Nothing is ever really as you think, is it? Months come to an end, temperatures rise and fall, August does slip away into a moment in time, and Taylor Swift writes really relatable lyrics and also really cringe lyrics—nothing is ever black and white!!!! I hope wherever you are, you are not melting away in a heatwave, and if you are, that you have a very powerful HVAC system or at least a really good fan. Or really good friends who will travel to you to escape (life, not the heat) for a weekend before your entire life flips on its head.
Wishing you well, until next week xo.