A few days ago I was sitting in my barber’s chair, where we complained about the heat. I told him I hated summer, to which he said, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Summer is so many peoples’ favorite season, but I dread the sweaty, long months. For me summer is a period filled with unsteadiness and boring routine, clouded by the expectation that I am supposed to be having grand adventures.

It’s hard for me to explain my disdain for the summer months, but recently I saw a post from one of my favorite Instagrammers, Mari Andrew, that put it quite poignantly.

She compared summer to, “a dangling voicemail to return. Misplaced, indirect longing. All the pressure of a weekend for four months. A To-Do List full of open-ended, abstract tasks. Overgrowth.”

Yes. Finally. My feelings are vindicated and put into relatable circumstances.

“I love warmth and sunshine but summer as a season is so, so hard for me,” Andrew wrote. “Why is that?”

Maybe it’s the slowness of summer that I dislike. Typically I keep a fast pace, going to school full-time and working multiple jobs—it’s normal in the Fall for me to leave my home at 8 a.m. and not be back until late.

Or maybe it’s the inconsistency of my social climate, with friends travelling and school friends living in their hometowns that leaves me feeling blue.

Regardless of the why, I know that I long for cool breezes and crisp leaves. For snowfall and winter coats. But I am trying to be content in this season of slowness. I’m learning that I’m impatient and prone to boredom, that stillness is difficult and isolation is damaging. No matter the season, there is always a lesson,  For, “there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”

Franklin Norton can be contacted at [email protected].