A priority on going biking

There were plenty of reasons for me not to go biking yesterday.

First and foremost, it was a work day for me. All summer, no matter how much fun I was having with the kids or with friends or other family members, the fact that I was putting in a substandard work day gnawed at me. At best, during July and August, I wrote for about three hours a day, compared with the six or more I can log once school is back in session.

So no matter how much fun I was having during summer break, it was always with a sense of comfort in knowing that a return to real life, and full work days, lay in the not-too-distant future.

And as is the case every year, when the school year started anew, nothing could have been more welcome than the opportunity to work from 9 to 3. That’s exactly how I felt a week ago, on the kids’ first day of classes. I turned on my computer five minutes after Holly clambered onto the bus, and I powered through three or four meaty assignments before Tim showed up with his first day of seventh grade behind him, asking about snack options.

But wanting to apply myself to my work was easy a week ago. It was a welcome novelty after the summer, and besides, that day was rainy. The whole first week of school was rainy, in fact. I was delighted to sit at my kitchen table writing for hours on end.

The Tuesday one week after the start of classes was a classic New England late-summer day, though, with a tinge of humidity underlying a warm, sunny morning. “This would be a good day for a bike ride,” I mused to myself as I drove across town after stopping by my parents’ house. “Too bad I can’t take one.”

Except wait. Why couldn’t I?

Well, because I had to file my weekly set of community news briefs. And write a blog entry. And slog along on a ghost-writing project I’m in the thick of.

But those were only the pragmatic reasons. Really, I reasoned with myself, I couldn’t take a bike ride because….well, because it was the middle of a work week in the midst of a busy month; vacation season had just ended; I hadn’t planned ahead to do something special and frivolous (normally if I’m going to divert from my regular workday routine, I plan it weeks if not months in advance); and besides, everyone else was at school or work – my children, my spouse, most of my friends, my sisters, my neighbors – why should I have the privilege of being out on a bike ride?

Because I can, came the answer, crashing over me like a breaking wave. Because I devoted the majority of my limited reading time this summer to Gretchen Rubin’s “The Happiness Project,” the gist of which is that each of us has a personal obligation to the universe to find what it is that makes us happiest and try to work that into our lives, regardless of our other necessary responsibilities. And spending time outdoors, preferably doing something physically challenging, on a warm late-summer day is definitely something that makes me happy.

But one thing I’ve learned about being self-employed is that playing hooky is very different now from how it was when I had a corporate employer. Back then, I took the occasional day off from work with a sense of triumph, even glee. “I earned this,” I would think to myself. “My company owes me this pleasure.”

When you’re self-employed, though, the boss always makes you feel guilty for a day off.

Make it a priority, I reminded myself. Do the things that matter most to you.

And so I did. I made myself a sandwich, filled up a water bottle and headed out.

You’re just lucky that you can do this, I told myself. You should still be feeling a little guilty, though, that other people can’t.

I wasn’t feeling guilty, though. I was feeling grateful. And happy. And yes, very fortunate. But also a little bit proud of my sense of focus. I’d made it a priority, and I’d done it.

As my friend Tracey wrote earlier in the day when I said I was contemplating putting work on hold, “Do it. You'll always remember the bike ride. You won't remember that extra hour you spent working.”

It turned out to be two hours of not-working, not one, but that was okay. I returned with inspiration for my blog and renewed energy for another couple of hours of work before the kids got home.

I felt a sense of accomplishment, too. Not the same sense of accomplishment I get when I finish drafting an article. The kind that comes from following my own priorities, no matter how frivolous they may be. Which in this case meant taking the opportunity to savor a magnificent and unique late-summer New England day, despite the awareness that maybe I should have been working.

Mid-August

Only in the past few years have I come to appreciate mid-August as one of the best times of the year.

Prior to this, mid-August connoted little more than heat and humidity to me. When I was a kid, it usually fell right when our vacation out west was all over, information about the new school year had arrived in the mail, and I was ready to move ahead into fall, not spend more time with summer details. And once I became a parent myself, it was often around mid-August that I'd start to feel completely out of resources as far as kiddie summer fun and just want to go lie on a beach somewhere all by myself with a good book.

More recently, though, it's been different. Mid-August, I've come to realize, falls squarely at the interesection of all the glory of summer and all the anticipation of fall. Yes, it can be hot and humid (though it is neither right now), but unlike the heat of July, there's no question that even if the weather is oppressive, it won't last much longer. And just as when anything good is starting to draw to a close you appreciate it more, by mid-August I'm keenly aware of all that I love about summer.

No super-early school-day mornings (I usually get up at 6:30 on weekdays mornings in the summer, which is a full hour and a quarter later than during the school year). Abundant fresh vegetables, even with New England's limited growing season: corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, berries, peaches. Warm water in ponds and lakes; temperatures that are not-quite-frigid in the ocean. Daylight that still lasts well into the evening, but leaves cool, soothing nights behind when it finally fades.

And although in June, standing at the precipice of another summer, I often fret about how the kids will fill their time and wonder if I've made enough plans for them, by mid-August I have nothing left to worry about on that count. I know they've both done an adequate amount of reading and writing and math to keep them ready for a new school year, and I still have a long list of ideas for summer excursions that we haven't done yet.

This year, the last few weeks of summer vacation hold additional pleasures: a creative writing program for Holly, and a little bit of vacation travel for all four of us. So I know it will go by quickly.

But fall is always an exciting time, with new school year energy for the kids and longer days for the kind of work I love, and less pressure to keep track of what everyone is doing and whether they are using their time well.

As the summer was beginning, I wrote in my journal that maybe my goal for this summer should be to spend less time worrying about how everyone in my family spends their time. It's true: I do put a lot of pressure on the kids to fit in outdoor recreation and exercise and reading and writing and time with friends and time alone and bathing and housework every day, and by extension, I put a lot of pressure on myself to ensure that all of those things happen. Maybe the answer is in fact for me to worry less about it.

But by mid-August, I'm done worrying about it, not because it has stopped mattering to me but just because I can see that everything worked out fine. By mid-August, I can simply savor what remains of the summer, as the days dwindle toward fall.

Summer again for a little while

As so often happens in September, hot late-summer air and a tinge of humidity have returned, and I'm finding the weather very comforting. When I was a kid, I remember that the weather would often turn summer-like just after school began, and back then it bothered me. I wanted crisp, dry, fall air evocative of chilly afternoons and calling for cable knit sweaters with jeans, not more of the summer I was already tired of lingering on.

But today I welcome the hot sunshine after several days of fall-like briskness. It reminds me that summer is still hanging on a little longer, and we don't quite have to give up on the season yet. There's still time for more swimming, for running in a tank top and shorts rather than layers of fleece, for more ice cream that melts faster than we can eat it. It reminds me that so many things in life ebb and flow more than start and stop. With obvious exceptions, like life itself, many things do not have a full-stop ending: they build, diminish, but then sometimes return. Good things like old friendships (I'm off to visit a high school friend on Sunday with whom my almost 30-year relationship has definitely ebbed and flowed, rather than started and stopped), my love of biking (I did so much of it in my 20's, and so little when the kids were very young, and now we're gradually turning into a family that can bike together), my sense of security in many aspects of my life. Bad things both large and small like ongoing disagreements that build, then recede, then begin again; and bad habits, like disorganization or poor punctuality, that I conquer only to deal with all over again. And maintaining sensible eating habits, and dealing with seasonal allergies.

As much as there are some things I wish could just end and be done with, mostly I take comfort in knowing how many elements in my life are like the tide and the seasons: building, receding, cycling around again. And so too the hot weather: undeniably here throughout August, absent for the first few days of September, now back. With some obvious exceptions, life mostly makes circles rather than straight lines, and there's comfort to be found in knowing that this too -- whatever "this" may be -- will pass, but return, only to recede again, and then recur again.

Running Streak Day 755 - 1.7 miles in the afternoon, down to Clark Farm and then up to pick up Holly at school.