I recently hiked sixteen miles round-trip in the backcountry of Mammoth. Not alone — I’m not that brave — but with my boyfriend. I carried my gear and a thudding heart. I know we’ve all heard these stories before, it’s not that wild anymore, but I still needed to remind myself how little we really need. Because what if this was all there was? Just a heavy pack and hot breath and the crystalized sun. And him, this beautiful person that chose me. I remember thinking:

Why should anything be more than this? A world with me and you.

Summer introduces the perfect excuse to take that well-deserved break we’ve been meaning to grant ourselves. We’re conditioned to associate this season with chatoyant skies and clement after-hours. Blushing swells. Flower moons budding alive. At night the stars sit like white wood asters, reflecting a new truth: everything will be simpler for the next few months. Roseate and warm.

It’s a time for barbecues and sundresses. Bare feet and daisy chains. All the things that say, “Hey, let yourself breathe again. You work hard, you try, you take on more than you should. Have this smile, feel something like happier. Be alive. Be gold.”

There’s magic in that, in letting go.