The other morning, I looked out my front window and spotted a chubby, stunning tabby lounging in my driveway. She was sprawled out like only cats can manage—arms outstretched, body twisted in a beautiful, furry curve. With a yawn, she rested one paw on the pavement, lazily surveying her surroundings.
I envied her deeply. She seemed relaxed and content, completely unburdened by life. Like the feline version of Matthew McConaughey. (Interestingly, I couldn’t think of a single female celebrity who embodies that level of chill.) Oh, how I would have loved to curl up next to Catthew McConaughey for a few sun-soaked hours. But reality hit, and I returned to packing my daughter’s lunch while flipping through my Google calendar, checking off the day’s appointments.
How did I reach a point where I wanted to literally transform into a stray cat? My reasons may resonate with many: years spent cautiously navigating the stormy seas of a pandemic, grappling with divisive politics, and experiencing a career that feels like a slip-and-slide, often leaving me flat on my back. And I count myself fortunate—I didn’t lose a loved one or my job. But the truth is, I’m burnt out. We all are.
Yet, along the way, we hear that old mantra drilled into kids: Be the best you can be. Honestly, I lack the energy to be “the best” at anything right now. I haven’t for ages.
Last summer was supposed to be about #HotGirlSummer; for me, it was anything but. The weight of everything lingered. I dreamed of donning my best bodycon dress and sipping margaritas with friends on a rooftop. I had ambitions to write a bestselling romance novel, embark on hiking adventures, and master sweet potato gnocchi from scratch. But I could barely muster the will to do more than just survive. When autumn rolled around, I felt a tinge of shame for not seizing the day as social media suggested I should. It’s a bit convoluted, right? Guilt for not having the kind of fun that online trends promised.
This summer, my hopes are much simpler. I’m wishing for #ABoringSummer. To me, “boring” means fewer tragedies, no terrifying headlines, and less anxiety about our children’s futures. My expectations have hit rock bottom. As for my personal agenda, I’m wholeheartedly embracing mediocrity.
What does that entail? I plan to channel that fat cat in my driveway. There will be no grand ambitions or lofty goals; just a few necessary or joyful appointments. My daughter and I will let our days unfold naturally. No elaborate craft projects involving endless toilet paper rolls or sticky air clay (unless we want to). No workbooks. We’ll enjoy messy popsicles and may even forget to shower. Sleeping in is definitely on the agenda. I aim to check my phone less often, and if we reach a day where nothing particularly eventful occurred? I’ll consider that a triumph. Somewhere along the line, I forgot that summer should be a time for rest—both for kids and parents. We still need to provide for our families, celebrate birthdays, and offer comfort to our children, but we can do so with lower expectations.
I know not every parent can take a step back as I wish to, but surely we can all ease the pressure on ourselves regarding what’s truly necessary in daily life.
Come fall, productivity and personal goals will return. I’ll dig out the sight words, reset the alarm, and tackle my daunting to-do lists. After all, this #ABoringSummer won’t last forever. But for now, let’s all aspire to a bit more mediocrity.
I use the term “mediocrity,” but truly, there’s nothing mediocre about prioritizing mental well-being or conserving your energy for when you genuinely need it—like those classic arcade game superheroes. In this context, simply surviving is the most extraordinary feat any of us can achieve.
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