I’m calling Summer 2024 the Summer of Try. I can’t take credit for the idea. That was all Cassie. But the joke quickly turned into a challenge. The idea was that I’d do one new thing a week—literally anything—every week, all summer. Every time I attempted something even slightly out of my admittedly limited comfort zone, I would shrug and go, “I guess this is my thing for the week.”
I didn’t document each week’s try because I didn’t think they would amount to much. A trip to the Albertson’s parking lot is hardly anything to write home about. I figured it’d be like the million exercise challenges that get a good two weeks of my life before I dropped it for the next self improvement idea. But that didn’t happen.
Early summer, I started small on my path towards becoming a more active participant in my life. I downloaded the regular suite of dating apps. I didn’t let myself get scared off of Tinder the first time I got a creepy message. I simply learned to how to un-match efficiently. Cassie bought pickleball paddles online, and I parked in the Target parking lot for the first time to pick them up. Given that I drove like a cable car tethered to the route up and down Broadway from my house to the parking lot behind the whitewater office the year before, this was a big first step that I did this voluntarily. We played pickleball horribly every Sunday night for weeks. I bought a bike to ride around the South Park bike paths since I loved to do that as a kid. I said “yes” instead of my standard “no” when my mom asked if I wanted to go up Josie’s. It’s steep and unrelenting for the mile and a half up, my childhood nemesis, but the hike is in the middle of town, so the convenience is unbeatable. It was a toe into the outdoorsiness I wanted back after too long in LA.
By June, I got asked on a date by someone I matched with on Hinge, and I said yes. I’d been on one first date before, also from an app, the summer prior, and I’d decided to give up on dating afterwards. This coffee date didn’t ultimately lead anywhere, but it made me hopeful that dating wasn’t all doom and gloom. There are interesting people out there, even if you only know them for an afternoon. This was also an excuse to learn everyone in the office’s various dating rules. Coffee or ice cream for a first date, an easy out. During the day. And give it 24 hours before you text them after the date; unless, of course, they text you first.
As the summer went on and I got more confident, the tries got more expansive too. I applied to jobs, sent pitches, joined a writing group, went on a fancy job interview at a non-profit, dipped a toe in multiple possible careers, realized I did not want to go to grad school (at least not for a long time), and ultimately got a job ski instructing for the winter. I cemented my love for my job at the rafting company, and I learned how to do it better.
Career-wise, so much of this summer was spent learning what I don’t want out of a career and slowly becoming more comfortable owning what I do want, even if it’s not conventional or easy to explain. Being able to say I’m studying to become a lawyer or a teacher sounds awesome, but I can’t live my life based on how it sounds to other people’s standards. At the end of the day, I want to be a writer. And while that might sound as good as declaring I want to be a princess or an astronaut, I’m going to make the choices that improve my odds of being one of the lucky few, not take away from it. This summer, I landed three major articles and nearly completed a novel draft. I’m doing my best to really do the thing.
I had a conversation with a friend the other night who was also graduating college about the amorphous abyss of the future when your college path doesn’t funnel you straight into a corporate job. In one way, the blank slate is amazing. In another, it’s terrifying. We aren’t taught how to live when the bumpers on the bowling lane go down and the structure of the school pipeline disappears. It was nice to be terrified together, for a moment, since it’s usually such an isolating cliff to fall off of. It’s hard to admit you don’t know what you're doing, but it’s also freeing. This summer, I learned to truly listen to myself instead of burying my feelings under easier ones, and I’ve also gained a comfort in loosening my grip, trusting it will all come together when it’s meant to.
In July, after hiking around just about every well-known lake in Grand Teton, I took a spontaneous over-fifteen mile hike to Lake Solitude. I butchered my feet and got a sunburn so deep I’m now paranoid about skin cancer on my back, but I’m proud of getting there two weeks after recovering from COVID. I told myself I was going to take full advantage of living in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and I did that. I also kept showing up to Josie’s week after week, and at some point, I started enjoying it in a weird way. That dedication to continuously confronting the hill felt like nearly as big of a win as my longest hike of the summer.
I went on another date in July that went shockingly well. And then crossed another first by landing a second date. On that date, I experienced that sad moment when you realize there’s absolutely no chemistry, and I had to confront how to handle not wanting to go on a third date. But at least I learned that I could get past the thrill of having someone like me enough to see when it truly isn’t a match. I didn’t get my fairytale summer fling, but I did find more belief in myself, more hope for the future.
This summer, I started actually driving places. This might be owing to the fact that I bought my dream car, a blue ‘22 Bronco, this summer that made it remarkably easier to drive. I went to the library, the county admin office to pick up my plates and later to vote, to the grocery store after work to randomly buy peaches and chocolate waffles, to a friend’s birthday party at a busy brewery. I learned to get gas for myself (as embarrassing as it is to admit that I’d driven so little in my life that I’d gotten away with letting others do it for me to that point). Eventually, I stopped begging for rides to the late shift at work, even when I knew there’d be no parking. Can you tell parking was a major, major anxiety of mine? I don’t think twice when I get in my car now, and I couldn’t have asked for a bigger blessing from this summer challenge.
In sillier pursuits, I tried beer. Once on my birthday on the lawn at Noah Kahan (can’t say I had more than a few sips). Once when I texted Cassie that I wanted to try Guinness after being deprived of one at the Niall Horan concert. The first time I nearly finished my own beer was at the Bird when Huckleberry Wheat was shockingly good. Turning 21 this summer, getting to visit the bars was always at the top of my bucket list. Turns out, the Cowboy isn’t as cool as I built it up in my mind to be but going out with friends is pretty great.
I said yes to going to a yoga class with another friend, even though the thought of group fitness gave me hives. It made me realize that all of the yoga I did off videos in my LA apartment actually made a difference. I went to an Adult Jazz dance class alone and faced the acute discomfort of being new at something and being bad at something you were once good at while having no clue what’s happening. I’d spent an entire year debating that try.
There’s plenty of tries I didn’t complete this summer. I didn’t summit a mountain (an ambitious hope), I didn’t make it to the climbing gym or find someone to get into climbing with. There are words left unsaid and things left undone, for sure. There’s always going to be lingering tries. That’s the point of living, right? To keep making yourself uncomfortable in little ways that push you beyond your bubble. To engage with the world even when outcomes are totally beyond your control.
I might’ve moved back to my small town, into my parents house, and returned to the same summer job, but because of that stability, I felt safe enough to try again. I grew up a lot this summer, something I desperately needed. Having Swiss cheese teenage years from homeschooling and the pandemic and trying so hard to be an adult too young, I feel like I finally put in the work to stitch up some of the gaps in my first summer post-grad.
If nothing else, I can say, this summer I tried.