Summer Evenings

The following is a short essay I wrote reflecting upon my memory of summer evenings. I wasn't originally intending to post this onto the blog but thought I might as well. It's been a while.

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I particularly enjoy summer evenings. Their memory gives me a sense of exhilaration. The warm air coming through my open window. The blowing wind. The running ceiling fans. The sounds of neighborhood children playing outside. If I am outside playing alongside them (which I haven’t been since COVID hit), the I feel the dry grass under my feet, feel the warm ambience of the atmosphere, enjoy the receding sun, and remember the thrill of playing a game alongside friends. Sometimes, we would knock on one another’s doors, or go play near the basketball hoop one of our neighbors has installed. The joy of running home every 15 minutes to check in with my parents. The excitement of making others laugh, and the feeling of mixed in with a sense of mild guilt from the ingrained consciousness that tells me maybe I am having a bit too much fun (though I suppose the latter shouldn’t be romanticized).

As far as I can remember, summer memories have been one time of year throughout my life that have been more or less constant, the years blending together with one another. These memories embody happiness in my heart, and the process of writing down my memories gives me a vicarious sense of enjoyment.  To me, summer evenings are happiness.

But why are these memories important to me? Dr. Peterson expresses in 12 Rules for Life, an argument that the primary role of memory is to prevent us from repeating a mistake. Were my summer evenings a mistake or something to avoid? If these memories comprise such a large portion of my life and if their recollection evokes such a strong such an emotion within me, it feels disconcerting to not at least search for a meaning within them.

As I approach adulthood, and begin to accept growing responsibilities upon myself, and feel a growing sense of duty to become the master of my own life (and by the way, I think that despite having to adhere to the rules set by my parents, there is no shortage of freedom I have, starting with the time I wake up every morning, to the degree of effort I apply in my work daily.)

When I recollect these summer memories, they strike me as if they were memories to be fondly remembered and cherished (as they are the blissful, beloved remnants of my childhood), but also better left in the past, as if as my personal growth and adoption of responsibility will require me to sacrifice such idealistic and unrestrained fun.

Part of me pulls me away from further indulging in such hedonistic play in an uncontrolled manner; it tells me that it is not wise to shirk responsibility to such a degree that is emblematic of pure fun, that the same experience of fun cannot continue as it did in childhood.

Adulthood, as I understand it, and particularly early adulthood, is a phase of life when it is wise to practice moderation and discipline--merely to get a hold of one’s life, and exercise stability--all to the ends of minimizing the “chaos” as Dr. Peterson puts it, that ensues not even by counteracting the order in one’s life, but even by failing to continuously rebuild the chaos that slowly, inevitably, and unpredictably seeps in.

I also feel that the pursuit of happiness is hardly a tenable goal. The circumstances of life--responsibilities, unexpected occurrences, parenting (when the time comes)--are sources of stress that one has to cope with and handle responsibly. Sometimes extreme circumstances, which are often outside one’s control (but certainly not outside one’s scope of responsibility), impose a burden upon oneself that makes the prospect of fun dim if not impossible. Happiness does not generate meaning; it isn’t tough to play around with friends. But its antithesis, suffering, and how we deal with that suffering, such as by sacrificing what we love in order to generate stability in life, is what is meaningful for myself and the human race at large.