Back to What, Exactly?
On the impossible task of manufacturing nostalgia, middle-aged burnout, and the surprisingly solid magic of "deck sitting".
I saw a post the other day from someone trying to do it all: work, driving to and from summer camps and sports camps and endless activities, meals, laundry, all of it. And then, in the evening, they said, they were focused on “creating nostalgic summer memories” for their kids.
And I had to stop for a second.
Because what does that even mean?
You can’t create nostalgia for your kids. That’s not how it works.
They’ll feel nostalgic later—if they do at all—and it probably won’t be about the moment you stayed up late trying to recreate something from your 1980s childhood. It’ll be something small. Random. Uneventful, even. Like popcorn on the couch. Or that weird cereal you let them try once that turned the milk blue.
Still, I catch myself doing the same thing. Trying to make summer feel like something.
We talk a lot about getting back to basics, but I’m not sure we ever stopped piling things on.
I work. We do camps. There are snacks and sunscreen and plans. And then in the cracks, I feel this pull to make it “special.”
And honestly, it’s exhausting.
The truth is my kid’s already happy.
He doesn’t need me to script the summer. He’s good with a morning cartoon and a bowl of Goldfish. He likes riding his bike. An impromptu trip to the pool on a hot day. Sitting in our side-by-side recliners on the deck and just chilling (what we affectionately call “deck sitting”). Talking about Pokémon. Showing me his Lego builds. Nothing fancy.
He just wants to be.
To be near me. To be heard. To be loved.
That’s it. It’s pretty basic.
And maybe that’s what’s been sticking with me lately… the difference between what feels nostalgic to us now, and what actually mattered then.
Because I do feel so much nostalgia for my own childhood summers. But they were simple because I was the kid. I wasn’t the one planning, packing, remembering the bug spray, or throwing together a dinner at 8:00 p.m. with whatever we had left in the fridge.
And doesn’t every generation look back and say their childhood was simpler? Of course it was. Childhood is simpler, because adulthood, especially middle age, comes with a trailer of responsibilities hitched to everything you do.
My parents both worked. My mom ran a successful business. I had babysitters and summer activities, and we hauled out to the boat every weekend, then later the cottage. And I feel so much nostalgia for those days.
I can’t ask my mom now—she’s gone—but I wonder if she felt the pressure to make it magical, or if she was just living her life and taking her kid along for the ride.
So when we talk about getting back to basics, I keep wondering: back to what, exactly?
Because maybe the basics aren’t behind us. They’re right here. They are the tiny moments that we’re living right now, just by being present. And the things the kids in your life will look back on someday as the ultimate summer.
A slow morning chat on the deck. A funny conversation. A card game. A bike ride for ice cream. A handstand contest at the pool. A little bit of presence in a life that’s always moving.
They just don’t look like much.
But they’re enough.