We often share our members’ news and recommendations at 26 – in fact we share both almost every month. However, these sharings are always confined to fragments. A tiny glimpse (often with a hint of marketing attached!). This summer, we invited our members to pick one moment from their summers, and share it with us. The aim was simple: Inhabit the moment. Notice more.
And write in whatever way feels most natural to you.
Signs of Life
It’s bedtime after a sweaty July day in Texas and the family’s house is growing dim room by room. One bedside lamp still glows as the mother lays in bed, scrolling her phone. She knows this is a bad habit but tonight she’s not persuaded by influencers or seduced by short videos. She’s looking for evidence of her son.
He’s 16 this summer, his first as a camp counselor. Sleepaway camp was her idea 8 years ago; one week away from home to swim, sail, and carouse with other kids. The green water sparkles under the sun and the grass is soft enough for bare feet from the screened-in cabins down to the lakeshore. No phones, internet or air conditioning is a rustic plus. These childhood weeks of independence have paid off. Her son is now a responsible young man who can lead the younger boys.
The camp posts pictures every night, which has become a trend to fulfill the modern parent’s need to hover. It’s unlikely that she’ll see him in the forefront this year, not like the youngest campers, but she’s keen for a sign of life.
Her other child, the first’s twin, lopes gently into the room and flops his lanky, teenage frame facedown onto her bed. He’s shirtless and tan from summer days on the tennis court or running along the river at the park. She stills and doesn’t speak. Her hand lifts, just enough to ruffle her fingers lightly through his hair. She doesn’t want to spook the teen. Moments when he seeks her out are increasingly rare and moving away to college is now part of daily conversation, less than a year away.
He breathes a deep sigh and comments “Your bed really is the most comfortable in the house. I think I’ll just stay here.” She chuckles while scrolling. He notices and needles her, “Have you seen the back of his head yet? What about an elbow? Let me look.” He leans over her shoulder and gasps mockingly “Is that his sandal?”
“Har har,” she says. “When you have children, you’ll understand.” She scrolls and squints, pinches and zooms. He’s now been gone almost two weeks with one more to go. She knows he’s having a blast and she wants to be a fly on the wall of his life.
The son in the room with her rises, having had the few moments with mom he needs. “Well, good night and good luck with your search. Let me know when you spy his eyebrow.”
She’s proud; her kids are funny. The light down the hall winks out and she scrolls a few minutes more. Then, there it is. Beyond the obvious focus of the picture (four young campers with arms loped around shoulders) is the left side of her son’s face, smiling, in conversation. She recognizes it instantly. A sign of life.
Smiling, she lays her phone on the bedside table and reaches over to click off the lamp.
Summer Diary 1: Chloe Green
Late in the evening of the eclipse, we wandered from a gathering at a friend’s house down the curving road to the meadow. We were close enough to home that, at half past ten, it would have been easy to turn towards bed, but instead we continued meadow-wards, in the promise that something even more exciting than the eclipse lay ahead… Read more.