Something’s been bothering me lately.
I’ve got that itch.
You do too.
It’s like being a kid and getting into scrapes because it’s so close to the end of school you could touch it. We get that restless itch and nothing fits—everything’s slightly irritating.
I love to work, and believe in it. I dig it. I dive in and immerse myself in it. But in order to be excellent at work, we need phenomenal playtime too.
Fall is great for playing in the leaves. Winter is full of snowball fights, skiing, snow angels and cocoa by the fire. Spring is dancing in the rain and picking dandelions. But the real play time—the play that picks us up, shakes out the cobwebs and finds our smile again—lives in the country of summer.
I believe in summer, with my whole heart.
I believe in living barefoot from April through October.
I believe in hammocks
I believe the smell of fresh-cut-grass, wild honeysuckle and wet skin can cure just about anything.
I believe that cherries are meant to be eaten seconds after being picked.
I believe in whole afternoons of nothing but cloud watching, daisy picking and playing thumb war.
I believe in counting fireflies, skipping rocks and reading each other’s tan lines.
I believe in splishing, splashing, diving, floating and soaking—as often as possible.
Summer isn’t for grown ups. Summer is for the mermaids and pirates lurking underneath.
The ocean, the lake, the creek, the pool, the waterfall, the sprinkler. Summer is in you—just add water.
I believe in outside more than in.
I believe in getting muddy.
I believe in homemade lemonade served in Mason jars.
I believe in sunburned noses, Popsicle-red lips and grass-stained knees.
I believe in hot pink toenails, lime green shorts and polka-dot bathing suits.
I believe in skinny dipping.
I believe in bonfires and s’mores.
I believe in flip flops, sundresses and checking each other for new freckles.
I believe dancing under the stars.
I believe in summer.
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