I LOVE RIGHT NOW!!!

estimated read time: 3.5 minutes

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It’s the last week of school, so everyone’s talking about summer plans.

“We’re going to snap our fingers and it’ll be the Fourth of July, and then by that point summer is basically over,” one of my mom friends said during a parking lot conversation after drop-off.

Everyone looked glum and nodded in agreement, me included.

I remember when summer used to stretch out before me like a massive blank canvas, waiting to be carved and crafted with the uniqueness of each day. I remember riding the bus home on the last day of school, beaming with delight, knowing how very long it would be before I sat behind a desk again.

I remember living entire lives within the months of June and July - whole chapters written by the water of Laurel Lake, by melted crayons and fudgesicles, by the colors of the sun setting over the daydreams of my 7-year-old self.

So what changed? Why is it that 2026 is almost halfway over and I am still writing 2025 on the check I write out to the roofers?

At some point, time sped up and I feel like I’ve lost control of the car I’m in. But I’m not driving. I was never driving. I’m in the passenger seat, offering the directions I thought made sense. Go wide around this tight turn. Always yield when going left into oncoming traffic. Go 5mph over the speed limit on the highway - but never more than that.

The road keeps moving whether I’m ready or not.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about something my friend Mags taught me in college.

I spent ages 18-22 in a city that wrapped me in its arms so tight, my sweat turned purple and gold and the sound of a saxophone will forever make me swoon. On weekends, my friends and I ran down St Charles and Royal Street like the innocent scoundrels we were and still are.

iPhones were still making their way onto the scene, and often we had no way to take pictures or capture what was happening around us. Rarely a photo. Rarely a video. Just the moments themselves - so wildly pure and joyous, you wish you could bottle them up and revisit them forever. Mags would shout “I LOVE RIGHT NOW!!!” as we’d all squeal with happiness, squeezing each others hands and dancing to the beat of the hand drum on the corner of Chartres and Canal.

It was just us. Just that moment.

And every time Mags shouted those words, everything seemed to slow down. We were reminded how incredibly lucky we were to be exactly where we were that very second.

My mind would take a mental snapshot, silently begging itself to remember this feeling for many years to come. And it worked! I can close my eyes and see Mags dancing at the house party at Tim and Tads, twirling and laughing, hair tied up in a tight top bun. I can feel Mags squeezing my knee as we rode the streetcar back uptown. I can see Mags laughing as we rode our bikes down Freret, blasting techno music from my jammy pack (yes, a fanny pack that plays music, I know - I am very cool).

“I LOVE RIGHT NOW” Mags would say. It wasn’t just an exclamation. It was a reminder.

A reminder that all we ever truly have is this moment. In those flashes of joy, we weren’t worried about exams or bills or drama. We were simply alive for what was happening right in front of us. Blissfully aware that our hearts were beating and our legs were moving and our best friends were all right there.

And I think that’s why childhood summers felt so endless. We weren’t measuring them against what came next. We weren’t thinking of back-to-school forms, social invitations, or the mind-numbing, endless inner monologue that accompanies an anxious, over-extended, overly ambitious suburban mom.

We were immersed in the little moments themselves. The little moments that slowly, and surely, make up a summer. That make up a life.

This summer, I refuse to let time slip through my fingers like strands of sand. I refuse to drop Ollie off on the first day of school and struggle to remember how we spent our stickiest July afternoons. I refuse to rush through the popsicle drips, the sprinkler runs, the late-night fireflies while worrying about what comes after.

This summer, I’m going to follow Mags’ advice. I’m going to say, “I LOVE RIGHT NOW” with ferocity. When we’re sweating through a walk to the playground. When the pool water is too cold and the sunscreen gets in our eyes. When everyone is laughing around the dinner table and when no one is saying anything at all.

Because maybe time isn’t actually moving faster. Maybe we’ve just gotten worse at noticing it while it’s here.

And maybe the closest thing we have to slowing it down is loving it enough to pay attention.

I LOVE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!