Summer Lovin'

They call them the dog days of summer, the sultry span of time between July 3rd and August 11th.

Dear reader, we are still in them.  Time stands still, creativity brews but does not reveal itself.  

Last summer, one of you watched and rewatched Indian Summers on Amazon Prime, witnessing racial injustices on another continent, mixed in with an interracial love story, as a way to process the unrest and the quest for a match at home.  You longed for your own South Asian flame, who had gone MIA.

Phone calls were scheduled with friends across the country, everyone staying home to avoid virus and plague, whilst breathing the outdoor air, away from others, on staycation mode.  No one had any babies.

One of you met your match, a brilliant Ph.D teaching at an illustrious private school in Miami.  Sparks flew, and the sapiosexual side of you was stimulated enough through virtual FaceTime and conversation.

Others used local dating apps, now saturated with quality men, who were seeking true and earnest connections, and had no option but to do so virtually, as a first step towards meeting in person.

One of you had a masked date in the park, walking and talking and recognizing the lack of a spark.  

Another made it to the fifth FaceTime with someone you had decided not to reject, out of kindness.

This summer, one of you watches the Olympics and ponders career choices, wondering whether Simone Biles' decision to put her mental health above achievement is something of an anomaly, or a new norm.  You don't miss your slow burn from the previous year, who ultimately put his own ambition above you.

They don't call them the dog days of summer for nothing, for tensions build and rise, with no outlet.

Dear reader, we will make it through.  Breakthroughs will come, and a fresh wind will inspire, once again.