Here we are: summer.
Time for lighter clothes. Shorts, maybe. Shorter sleeves. Sleevelessness, even.
It is time for water. The pool. The lake. The ocean.

In which case, it is time for a bathing suit.

In which case, for many of us, it is time for the annual Festival of Self-Recrimination.

We'll wiggle into the suit. Adjust the parts. Take a side eye view at the mirror. And for many of us, we will then bathe in bad feelings.
But this is not mandatory. It's just a bad habit.
So this year, I am going to change it up. I'm going to insist on giving myself permission to release my grip on all that, because:
I have a body, yay!
I have a bathing suit, yay!
If I am lucky enough to be near the water, then I'd better be smart enough to stop gazing at my middle-aged navel and look outward. At light glistening on the waves.
At a few small clouds kissing the blue.
At a natural world insisting on being perfect. In spite of us. In in spite of it all.