Every day is all there is

+ there will never be more of summer than there is now.

JUNE

By Alex Dimitrov

There will never be more of summer
than there is now. Walking alone
through Union Square I am carrying flowers
and the first rosé to a party where I’m expected.
It’s Sunday and the trains run on time
but today death feels so far, it’s impossible
to go underground. I would like to say
something to everyone I see (an entire
city) but I’m unsure what it is yet.
Each time I leave my apartment
there’s at least one person crying,
reading, or shouting after a stranger
anywhere along my commute.
It’s possible to be happy alone,
I say out loud and to no one
so it’s obvious, and now here
in the middle of this poem.
Rarely have I felt more charmed
than on Ninth Street, watching a woman
stop in the middle of the sidewalk
to pull up her hair like it’s
an emergency—and it is.
People do know they’re alive.
They hardly know what to do with themselves.
I almost want to invite her with me
but I’ve passed and yes it’d be crazy
like trying to be a poet, trying to be anyone here.
How do you continue to love New York,
my friend who left for California asks me.
It’s awful in the summer and winter,
and spring and fall last maybe two weeks.
This is true. It’s all true, of course,
like my preference for difficult men
which I had until recently
because at last, for one summer
the only difficulty I’m willing to imagine
is walking through this first humid day
with my hands full, not at all peaceful
but entirely possible and real.

This poem’s title is June but I am writing to you in mid July, mainly because so far it has felt like there never could be more of Summer than I’ve experienced in the past few months. For most of last year I felt adrift, as if I had taken a wrong turn and then found myself at the wrong place at the wrong time, and I remember distinctly feeling melancholic for most of summer (at least some of this we can attribute to the perhaps lingering depression but I also think it was more complex than that) . It was like every day was New Year’s Eve — I felt so much pressure to be having fun, like other people always seemed to be. This affliction, to feel as if everyone is having the time of their lives when you find yourself bored or unhappy, feels deeply human and is probably most often exacerbated if not created by social media.

This left me feeling disappointed often. I was in a perpetual state of yearning — for something, a feeling I couldn’t quite name, a summer je ne sais quoi. Upon reflection, this thinking was mostly unhelpful and likely distracted me somewhat or detracted from the moments of pleasure, frivolity and debauchery I did enjoy from June to September last year. It’s not as if I had no social life at all, but a feeling of detachment or like something was missing was present, a frustrating devil on my shoulder that I unfortunately agreed with.

Earlier this year, after a few things not going the way I wanted them to (if there is one lesson the universe seems to want me to learn it is to remember control is an illusion and surrender surrender surrender) I was reflecting on yearning. I have spent many chapters of my life in this state. I am incredibly good and well rehearsed at wanting, aspiring, working towards something. This isn’t all bad, but I realised all of the longing was sometimes distracting me from the present. It made me impatient, so greedy and desperate to get my hands on that imagined future. Because I had pinned so much on it, I was often ignoring the pleasures of the moment. It’s okay to be good at aspiring, but what about having? Relishing and luxuriating in that which we do have?

At some point I decided I would 100% commit to my life as it was. I said: YES and! I leaned in. It helped me be more present. And in that presence, I found lots of pleasure. Simple joys in small moments. When I wasn’t waiting for some future me, who had more money and a more exciting job or a ‘better body’ (the most prolific illusory fantasy of the body dysmorphic) I found myself not only enjoying my current day to day more, but also trying new things, meeting wonderful new people, and I found myself softening. A sense of gentle possibility returned.

This philosophical shift was in some parts inspired by a phrase I read in Miranda July’s magnificent novel All Fours which I read last year. It is a novel better devoured than explained, but essentially it follows the protagonist, a semi-famous artist, on a journey of self-discovery which begins when she plans a road trip across the country. The phrase that struck a chord with me is in reference to the protagonists planned meeting with a major celebrity, which she believes may cultivate in a collaboration. She offers up a weekend slot, a non-conventional time, presumably to show willing and enthusiasm. The response: “Every day is Tuesday.” Now, in this context, it isn’t necessarily inspiring. It speaks to the formless life of the super famous, where days and weeks blend into one another, hyper optimised amorphous blocks of expectation and functionality. For me though, it unlocked something else. If every day was Tuesday, then maybe that could be freeing. It got me thinking about how Tuesday conjures a mundane image - mid week, dull, uninspiring. Not necessarily the magic that we might associate with a weekend, or summer perhaps. What if, instead of trying to build our lives working towards and anticipating the antithesis of the dull Tuesday - birthdays, weddings, exciting holidays - we tried to make the average Tuesday as enjoyable as possible. What would it take to make a Tuesday pleasurable? And how could we do that as often as possible? If a Tuesday is quite lovely that should be a big success. After all, most of life is Tuesday. This isn’t to say that those big moments aren’t important - weddings, hen do’s, holidays have been some of the highlights of my year so far, and in my favourite memories of all time. It’s more that I don’t want to be in a constant state of longing - so much so that I neglect the every day. Like Didion said: every day is all there is.

I guess I wish I could put more of a finer point on this, but this shift has helped me change my life in a massive way. On the outside it might not look radically different, but my experience of it has changed considerably. I have had so many moments recently where I zoom out and I look at my life and I go: wow. I can’t believe this is my life! (Complimentary). There’s maybe something in this idea of presence that is to do with the alignment of the body, mind and spirit. Naturally I’m very mind focused (triple air sign, incredibly attached to my thinky thoughts) which can dissociate me from the present moment. My life nowadays is structured around lots of exercise and community interaction, which has made me feel more myself than ever and brings me back to centre when I feel overwhelmed or disregulated. It’s as if when those three elements of myself work together in tandem, many things that I overthought or were causing me suffering simply seemed to fall into place. It hasn’t been effort-less, though. I do think it is a result of consistency - messy, imperfect action and continued showing up for myself and being curious about what works for me (not anyone else). I am proud of myself for this. It hasn’t been easy but I am grateful for the lessons learned and that I’m still learning. There was no real ‘aha!’ moment where I felt everything clicked. It was more of a slow unfurling, like gradually sinking into a warm bath after an arduous day.

I’ve been busy - don’t get me wrong - but it’s a busy that energises and excites me. I love my life and I love being out and about and in community with people I love. This weekend I was running about non-stop but there isn’t anything I would have swapped out for the world. I grew up in a small village and spent a lot of time yearning for the big city. The life like the New York sitcoms I was obsessed with.

On Saturday night, after travelling across London from a Strangers in the City event (we went BOULDERING!) I was walking down Kingsland Road, the heat was relentless and sticky, the sky a perfect peach and violet hue. When the sun shines in London, everything is romantic. I arrived at a bar for Lauren’s birthday and it was filled with people I adore. I bumped into people I wasn’t expecting to see - including a lovely man who I met at a party last weekend ( after my pride shenanigans I went to a predominantly heterosexual party where was dressed in a mesh vest and a cowboy hat and everyone else was in normal clothes). I’ll resist the cliche urge to reach for one of Carrie’s voice over aphorisms, but it was one of those magic evenings that felt like a life I’d always dreamed about, and everything was in perfect alignment. Those moments are the kind you could easily miss, or forget to truly savour, if you weren’t paying attention.