The Magic in the Pause

Guest Opinion

By Kate Lewis | July 5, 2025

There’s something about July that makes you feel like you’re supposed to be doing more. The weather is perfect, the water’s warm, and the region’s buzzing with energy—must-see this, can’t-miss that.

And with that comes the pressure. There is this unspoken expectation that we should be out there squeezing summer to the very last drop. Like summer is some kind of competition, and we’re all racing to see who can enjoy it the most.

I’ve felt it. That tug to fill the calendar, check off the bucket list, optimize the fun. As if summer is a limited-time offer and I better get my money’s worth.

But lately, I’ve started resisting that pull. Not because I’m against having fun, but because I’ve finally realized when I try to do it all, I end up experiencing almost none of it. So this is a reminder—mostly to myself, but maybe to you too—that the best thing you can do in July is slow down.

I mean really slow down. Not the kind of “slow” where you’re still checking emails on the way to the beach or rushing to get that pastry at the farmer’s market. I’m talking about the kind of slow where you stop trying to do summer and just live it. Where you let go of the curated calendar and allow space for surprise. For stillness. For actual presence.

The funny contradiction is, I’ve never had less free time. I’m raising two small kids. I work. And somewhere in there, I’m supposed to walk 10,000 steps and eat 100 grams of protein. But this summer, I made a conscious change to ditch the family schedule, toss the daily routine. I don’t want to miss my favorite season because I was too busy trying to check it off like a to-do list.

I’m trying to show up for the little things. Like a slow paddle down the lower Platte River, drifting through the dunes until I’m suddenly out in the big blue of Lake Michigan. Or an early morning bike ride on the Sleeping Bear Heritage Trail, when the park is still quiet and the wildlife outnumbers the people. Start in Empire at North Bar, stop for coffee in Glen Arbor, dip your toes in the Crystal River, then cruise back with a packed cooler and a towel ready for the beach. That’s my kind of perfect day. Or sneaking in a sunrise run along the TART Bayfront, when the water is calm, the air is still, and the whole bay feels like it’s holding its breath.

Most beach outings with my daughters are treasure hunts. Every stone is a gem. Every piece of beach glass is a priceless find. Sometimes we find a toad. Sometimes a feather. Always something worth holding in little sandy hands. And when we stay out past bedtime to catch a sunset from the water or watch fireworks light up the bay, those are the moments I want to remember. That’s what I want them to remember, too.

Here’s the shift I’ve felt most as a parent: I’ve started doing the math. My kids are four and five. If I’m lucky, I have maybe a dozen summers like this—with them fully mine, still small, still reaching for my hand on the trail or in the water. And I don’t want to miss these versions of them because I was too busy trying to make our outings perfect. I want to be in it—the wet towels, the sweet and sticky ice cream fingers, the skinned knees, and the endless questions. Watching them learn to swim in the bay, use gears on a bike, and feel brave enough to cannonball off the dock. Finding bugs. Picking flowers.

This reminder isn’t just for parents. This is for anyone who feels that tug. The people with mile-long to-do lists and Instagram feeds full of other people’s curated summers. Somewhere along the way, we turned leisure into another performance.

So maybe instead of filling every weekend with events, we leave a little room for things to happen on their own. Say no to a plan and yes to spontaneity. Eat ice cream for dinner. Let the kids stay up too late. Let ourselves sleep in. Leave the laundry. Jump in the lake. Just be in the day.

That doesn’t mean ignoring all the amazing things happening around us. July in northern Michigan is bursting with possibility. But this summer, I’m trying to look up more. Breathe deeper. Move slower. Let summer unfold instead of trying to control it.

Say no to the grind. Say yes to what’s right in front of you. Trade the calendar for a quiet morning, the checklist for a cannonball, the rush for a deep breath.

Because the real magic of summer? It’s not in the plan—it’s in the pause.

Kate Lewis resides in Leelanau County and serves as the director of communications for Traverse Area Recreation and Transportation (TART) Trails. You can typically find her biking on a trail, paddling on the water, hiking in the woods, exploring northern Michigan with her kids, or dancing at a Phish show.