The Summer I Start Living

I had high hopes for the summer. I have high hopes every summer, but this one was supposed to be different. I was going to make a fresh start. Put myself out there and make the most of life. Live summer to the fullest, like I’d always dreamed of. A Mediterranean summer with crystal blue waters and toes in the sand. Sunset walks and cliffside cafés. Tanned skin and sundresses. No more staying at home alone, wishing for a life lived. Dreaming of a girl on my arm and the sun on my back. This time, I had a plan.

You see, I decided that it was time for change. Seven summers I spent waiting for my life to fall into place. I moved from a small town to the capital city for a bigger life. The city promised activity and opportunity seven days a week. I had struggled to stand out in my small town, to find my place in the simple life. It wasn’t for me. So, I made the move to the big city. It was scary at first. I didn’t know anybody, and my first summer there was a quiet one. A lonely one if I’m being honest. Eventually, I did make friends. I even dated a little, but it was never enough. A handful of daytime drinks in the pub, a couple of picnics here and the rare festival there. It wasn’t bad, I’m not complaining, but it didn’t placate me. My thirst for life was not quenched. My throat was tickled, but I remained parched of memories cinematic.

I watch a lot of movies and read a lot of stories, but I continue to wait for mine to unfold. I have always pictured a summer of living. Where every day I would wake to the warmth of sunlight on my face and an air of possibility about the place. Three months of sun, shine, and laughter.

I have always dreamed of having a group of sociable friends. Friends who yearn to make the most of life and share those experiences with me. Group dinners, BBQs in the park, concerts and festivals, weekend trips and food markets. Seaside visits and late-night rooftop chats. All that and more. A rich buffet of life and moments.

I always dreamed of a summer with you, too. The woman of my dreams, of whom I am yet to meet. You see, even in a city of nine million people, I could not find you. So, finally, I gave up, until change fell upon me.

“I shall move abroad!” I said. Out loud, to no one.

It was an epiphany I had one night after talking with a friend. We were saying goodbye before he moved abroad to start a new life with his new wife. It wasn’t spontaneous (the epiphany). I had always dreamt of living abroad. I just didn’t believe I would ever find the courage. As it turns out, courage was not what I needed. It was motivation or desperation. It depends on who you ask.

So, I moved to the Mediterranean to live by the sea. I figured the setting was half the battle. How could I not have an epic summer when living in a pretty town with fresh food and turquoise waters? A town full of beautiful women (locals and tourists). It was a fail-proof plan. To live a summer in a place of summer.

There are certain places around the world that you dream of when you think of summer, and the Mediterranean is one of them. It is the cinematic background I so craved. Swapping parks, rivers and skyscraper rooftops for beaches, coves and clifftops. It’s a happy trade, but not one without its challenges. If adapting to city life was difficult, this would be a breeze. Or so I thought. As it turns out, locals here are sceptical of foreigners like me, unsure of my intentions. Although they be honest, I am here for selfish reasons. I can’t blame them for not embracing me with open arms. But unlike them, I was not as fortunate as to be born into paradise. I grew beneath grey skies and murky dreams. Where a life like this only existed in the most daring of imaginations, and here lies my problem. I picture a world, a life that might not be real. I long for holding hands and leaping from a yacht with a giggle and a smile. Swimming with snorkels and swapping stories of magical encounters over dinner. Meaty skewers cooked over fire. With wine-stained lips. A flickering amber under starlit skies and kisses at midnight.

So, the plan was in action. Months before the summer solstice, I had arrived. Ready to begin living the life I had dreamed of. Fulfilling friendships and budding romance. The new me was ready. I wore new clothes and fresh hair. Attended every social gathering and networking event possible. I put myself out there just like I promised I would. This time, there would be no excuse. I would give it my all. I was determined to succeed by pushing down my anxiety and setting aside my nerves. I had a purpose: to make friends and talk to girls. To change my world. In my downtime, I would carry a book to cute cafés and read in public. Make myself available. I would not hide at home and watch opportunities pass me by. My work-from-home was now a co-work from a shared space. Anywhere would do. Anywhere that I might make a connection. Searching for people like me. Like-minded individuals who would welcome a stranger and embrace the season of warmth. For years, I have begged and pleaded with the universe to answer my calls. This year, I would knock on the door...

But as summer arrived sooner than expected, I began to worry. I was meeting people. I had made a friend or two, but it was all too new. Still, I tried. I would not give up without a fight. I went on a date. A single date, with three different women, three different times. I put on my best clothes and wore a conscious smile. I made eye contact. I asked questions and actively listened. I remembered to give compliments. I didn't panic. I dropped my guard, but they didn’t stay. I was not enough. Three dates were all I could muster, and the summer began to feel like a blunder.

My new friends are kind, but busy. They’re still new to me, but we did beach days twice and shared cocktails on a rooftop with a different kind of view, like an old summer with a new twist. There was no boat, but there was a parade and an unexpected street festival, which was nice. It wasn’t cinematic, but it did stir magic, but it never quite settled in my stomach. Much like the summers past, I had a blast on occasion, but the summer shines long, longer than it used to. Still, three months or four is not enough to find love. But if a decade is too short, then when will be enough?

How long before I can live, laugh, love?

As the summer draws in and autumn looms, I reflect on yet another summer without ‘you’. It was quicker than expected, and not how I imagined. I swam in the ocean but read alone on the beach. I spoke to strangers and even danced in the street. I slept alone every night but cried only thrice and dreaded fewer mornings. I saw many yachts but only from the shore. I enjoyed no picnics and held no hands, but I stuck to my plan. I may not have succeeded, but I achieved many things, so I will continue to dream…

And I’ve decided that next year is the summer I start living.

...

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**Thank you for reading. Does anyone else dream of the elusive perfect summer, or is it just me?**

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© Simon George 2025. All Rights Reserved.

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