Usually, I’m an ant. I like having to-do lists and schedules, deadlines and goals, and I’m at my happiest when I’m working as much as playing, or maybe even a little more.
But not in August. As the fable goes, there’s a time for work and a time for play, and August is the time for play. The days are still long, most emails are met with out-of-office replies, and the late-summer heat is so perfect for strolling. Or lounging. Or swimming. Or reading. Or ice-cream-cone-licking. But not for typing. (I once had a wooden desk chair and an apartment without air-conditioning, and while I was stuck at my computer revising a book during a heat wave, I hydroplaned off my seat. True story.)
I feel a little guilty being a grasshopper right now. I’m looking forward to being an ant again, in just a few weeks. But for now, I’m going to embrace the season of play. I’ll be “making music” till Labor Day. After all, what a writer needs most is rich experiences, so in my own way I’m storing up food for winter.
(To see my grasshopper days, find me on Instagram!)