Bear With Me Here

I think I'm probably in danger of making a really simple point with this post, but bear with me. Much like that one kid in your freshman philosophy survey course in college who raises his hand and asks rhetorically, as it is just occurring to him at that self-same second 'What if I just made all of you guys up in my head?', I'm gonna need to think this one through out loud. Parenthetically, the philosophical counter punch to that question would be 'If you did make me up in your head, wouldn't I think you were a lot cooler than I actually do?'

I think others have likely made this point better than I could, but don't you think summer is the seasonal equivalent to the present? If spring evokes the future and all its possibilities and fall evokes the past and all its memories,and assuming that winter is just dormancy and a needed placeholder, that would have to make summer all about the present, right?

WHICH IS WHY SUMMER STRESSES ME OUT. I am constantly trying to appreciate each moment to the point that it becomes a distraction. Yes, this corn on the cob is good, very good. I appreciate this sunshine, I do. No, I do! I think everyone has experienced some kind of miserable sickness that has made them want to make promises to the God of his or her choice that if they could just feel ok again they would make note of every moment they felt healthy. Each laugh that didn't turn into a coughing fit or each restful night of sleep. This is a good intention, but I don't think it's possible in reality.

In order to fully appreciate a moment (or a season), is it necessary to consciously note the enjoyment? And how many moments are even sweeter in retrospect anyway? Maybe that's the key to summer. Maybe the consciousness of it needs to be divorced from the self-conciousness of it. Maybe it's not about telling yourself how much you appreciate a moment, but instead letting go of words and just scrunching sand between your toes.

Maybe all you guys already figured this out. Probably.