10 Things to Do While Lonely, Anxious and Ashamed This Summer

or is it just me?

Feeling lonely, anxious and ashamed this summer? How dare you? How could you? Call the Summer Police; someone’s not having MAXIMUM FUN!

Unless…wait…is summer a hoax?

I want to love summer. Every year, I try. I’m known to be pretty happy the rest of the time. So why do I fall into a summer slump?

Here’s a hot take: Summer is the seasonal equivalent of having a baby to save the marriage—the panacea (or placebo) to reviving the year, turning everything around, making another trip around the sun feel worth it. You can’t have problems when it’s 78 degrees out! Feeling weird and existential? Go to the beach! Summer is always treated as the cure.

Perhaps this forecast stems from childhood, back when summer did as promised. There is a school’s-out euphoria that never seems to dim, despite being universally inapplicable to adulthood. Why do I believe that, come June, I will be mystically transported from a mundane office job to a lake somewhere up north… a lake with all of my friends and we’re all drinking spiked kombucha? Summer is often stalked by expectations.

My internal gloom is most apparent when tied up against good weather. I hate when the way it looks outside isn’t reflective of the way I feel inside. If I’m going to be bummed, can’t the sky cloud in solidarity? Why doesn’t it look anxious out?! Feeling down on a sunny day makes me think I’m doing something unquestionably wrong.

I have been battling some loneliness, anxiety and shame these past few weeks. My sinking has origins—roommate away for six weeks, a breakup, the diffusion of a once beloved friendship, work is busy. But it’s more than that. I think a summer funk is more universal than we tend to admit.

If this at all resonates with you, you’re in the right place. Here’s a list of what to do*:

*Notice I didn’t say here’s what will help—this is just some stuff you can do:

1. Take a bike ride to the park

If you live where I live, the single best thing to do when you’re anxious, ashamed and lonely is board a Citi Bike and cross the Williamsburg Bridge, #iykyk. The overpass is so steep; the journey is a stroke short of Kilimanjaro. As you climb, listen to something that reminds you of life’s imminent passage. The song should be very on-the-nose. I typically opt for Sharon Van Etten’s Seventeen. You’ll end the ride lost in a wobbly stagger through spacetime wondering where youth begins and dreams end, but my god, you’ll feel so accomplished after that hill! SoulCycle what?? Lea Michelle who?? Walk five hundred feet and go sit in Domino Park.

2. Write yourself a letter while sitting in the park

Write the letter in a notebook you bought from a small business for a price you couldn't back out of because the cashier had already scanned it and you felt guilty putting it back. Whatever you do, don’t try to resolve anything. You’re not here to solve life’s problems; you are only here to tell Future You how you feel today. Engage with the reader. Ask them burning questions. Did your boobs ever come in? You’re going to open the letter in September.

3. Do one sun salutation in the park then stop because you’re self-conscious of your chaturanga in the park

Wow, you just free-wrote in a journal. Are you…better than everyone? You look around. Everyone is nested in small friendship clusters having respective, intimate picnics. Posers. When’s the last time they looked inward and reflected? Overwhelmed by your mind-body connection, you feel inspired to break out in Vinyasa. Feet firmly planted to the ground, you perform a luxurious salutation, fingers outstretched in the breeze. You are bonded to the earth, to your breath, to your soul. From downward dog, you lower yourself to the grass. The weight of the universe is in your triceps. You crook your neck to the sky, hoping to see the wind. Wait. People are staring at you. Cease mid-chaturanga. Collect your journal. Bike home. Listen to Cardi B this time.

4. Venture to the soap store

Take a trip to the most lavish soap and/or candle store in your neighborhood. Think Diptyque, Le Labo, Malin+Goetz, Aesop (and those are just the ones on my block). Spend thirty minutes imbibing scents, admiring fonts, and asking questions about the true meaning of Santal. Purchase the smallest candle you see for $65 and head home. Put the candle in a place where everyone will see how much dust it has collected by winter. Remember: You’re rich enough to buy the candle but too poor to light it.

5. Look at Find My Friends. Refrain from letting them know what you saw

Hey, maybe someone you know and love is nearby! Someone in search of a proximal pal, just like you! Hold on. What’s this? Your closest friend is 5,064 miles away in Santorini. No one else seems to be at their apartments. What is Jane doing uptown? Why is Alexis so deep in Brooklyn? Is she back with her ex? Why didn’t she tell you?! Throw the phone into your bathtub.

6. Tell everyone about your breakup, then show them the person you’re talking to on Raya and ask if they seem cool

Make sure everyone in your life is acutely aware of the dramatic unravelling of your latest situationship. Tell your manager. Tell your Uber driver. Tell your bodega guy. Wait, these chopped cheeses are both for you? I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT, TONY!

Next, show everyone the profile of the person you just matched with on Raya. Ask: So what do you think of the vibes? Will I like them? Heed your Uber driver’s response.

7. Get a tattoo with no significance

Something that should always be done alone or quasi-alone is a tattoo. Otherwise, you run the risk of an unpleasant and permanent reminder should things ever go south with your body art buddy. Take this advice with a grain of salt, but keep in mind that I adopted this stance from a girl I was seeing and no longer am.

Summer is the perfect opportunity to ink up. Avoid choosing a design with meaning. This is just supposed to make you feel good right now. Think: Geometric Shape, Tiny Heart, Slice of Fruit. Life is too short not to engrave a lemon wedge above your elbow.

Plus, you want your friends to notice something different about you the next time they see you. You know, when they get back from Greece.

7. See a movie by yourself…no wait…see a comedy show by yourself

The Barbenheimer double-feature is a marathon best completed in pairs, but there are plenty of flicks to catch solo. I attended Asteroid City alone, which I think is the best way to absorb art. I sat in a row with two other women my age, each of us spaced two seats apart. We laughed in unison the whole way through. It was beautiful.

If you’re looking to level up from the movies, go see live comedy. I caught Lara Ricote at Union Hall a few months ago, a long-time favorite of mine. It’s nice to watch a comic you love without feeling accountable for your friends’ enjoyment… or their judgement at that fucked up joke you liked.

8. Decide what you want for dinner

Walk to your nearest grocery store. Spend fifteen minutes looking at each brand of Rigatoni. Ugh, none are the right diameter. Ramen? Nah. You can’t land a compelling comfort meal. Walk home with nothing. Spoon peanut butter from the jar. Oops, that was your roommate’s. Eat a bag of dry kale salad. Use the money you saved from tonight’s meal to buy a sweater from Aritzia. The math doesn’t add, but don’t think about it too much.

9. Revisit a childhood favorite TV show

I have taken it upon myself during my roommate’s sabbatical to watch copious amounts of SpongeBob. My motive was to scroll back to the first story that ever made me laugh. They say if you’re looking for something, try returning to the beginning. I don’t know this for certain, but I doubt my roommate is any fan of the giggly sea sponge. Imagining her disdain makes this activity feel perverse, like I’m watching pornography right there in our living room. I live in fear that one day, she’ll text me: What’s this all over my Amazon Prime account???? But the day has yet to come. In fairness, she uses my absences as an opportunity to binge-watch Scandal.

Revisiting a treasured series provides a cozy and consistent brand of nostalgia. The present folds over into the past. A tension releases. You disconnect the wires a little bit. I recommend it. Time slows when you’re watching Danny Phantom.

10. Oh my god…you left the letter at the park

Go on, get in an Uber. I won’t judge.

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If this doesn’t help, that’s okay. There’s only 58 days until Autumn!

xoxo,

Shelby