This summer, my husband and I undertook a move. A relocation from Massachusetts to Arizona has been undertaken by others, no doubt. We decided to make things a little more interesting than a direct route. We headed north. Our circuitous route is winding us through Newfoundland, Portugal, and North Carolina. When one would think to take the southerly route from the Carolina’s to Arizona in the winter months, we will make Bugs Bunny’s famous right turn at Albuquerque to get to Bozeman, Montana. Then, we’ll drive to Arizona.

In the northern hemisphere, it’s officially summer. It’s the season where shoes are optional, schedules flung out the window, and s’mores an everyday occurrence. It includes days of drippy ices, water-logged joy, and vitamin D drenched humans. We adventure easily, leap without question, and reacquaint ourselves with risk. 

A bit of rest, a moment for for reflection: in these shifting times, it can be a challenge to find time—even to remember to take time—for such things amidst shifting times in politics, personal life, world news, climate emergencies, and other ongoing events.

Music works well for this, though. Music can be a gateway and a companion to encourage and allow a bit of rest, a moment to step back, to reset one’s perspective.

Depending on circumstance and your taste in music, a lively tune can be just helpful with this as a reflective song.

This summer, my husband and I undertook a move. A relocation from Massachusetts to Arizona has been undertaken by others, no doubt. We decided to make things a little more interesting than a direct route. We headed north. Our circuitous route is winding us through Newfoundland, Portugal, and North Carolina. When one would think to take the southerly route from the Carolina’s to Arizona in the winter months, we will make Bugs Bunny’s famous right turn at Albuquerque to get to Bozeman, Montana. Then, we’ll drive to Arizona.

In my youth, I spent some of my best summers at a rustic sleepaway camp on the edge of the Long Island Sound. Decades later, I can still tell you what those leaves smell like on a rainy day, what the beach rocks feel like on the souls of my feet, what color my tongue turned after drinking the colorful ‘bug juice’, and the taste of the crumb cake baked with love by Maryanne the cook. When crumb cake shows up on any menu, I smile—and no matter where I am in the world, one taste flings me right back to camp and the extra bites that Maryanne would leave out on the counter for all to enjoy.