Summer is the season of doing things. Beach trips, barbecues, festivals, vacations. Everyone's posting adventures. FOMO hits different when the sun's out and every weekend seems to demand some kind of memorable activity. But here's what I've learned: sometimes the best summer move is no move at all.
The FOMO Season
I spent one summer saying yes to everything. Every beach invite, every rooftop hangout, every "we should definitely do something this weekend" text. By August, I was exhausted. Not the good kind of tired from adventures well-lived, but the depleted kind that comes from constantly being in motion without ever actually resting.
That's when I discovered summer lampin'. Not as a substitute for all summer activities, but as a necessary counterbalance. For every big weekend plan, I started building in deliberate nothing time. And something shifted. The activities I did do became more enjoyable because I wasn't running on empty.
Summer doesn't have to be earned through constant activity. Sometimes the most summery thing you can do is sit somewhere warm and do absolutely nothing.
Becoming a Shade Connoisseur
Summer lampin' is largely about finding the right shade. This isn't as simple as it sounds—shade has levels, and becoming a student of shade will transform your summer experience.
Deep tree shade is the premium stuff. Under a mature tree with full leaf coverage, it can be 10-15 degrees cooler than the surrounding area. The air feels different. You can actually relax instead of just enduring the heat.
Dappled shade is where sunlight filters through leaves in moving patterns. It's warmer than deep shade but more interesting. The light plays. There's something mesmerizing about watching those shifting spots of sun.
Architectural shade is what you find under awnings, porches, and building overhangs. It's reliable and predictable, though it lacks the organic quality of tree shade. Good for urban lampin' when nature isn't available.
Morning and evening shade is the whole landscape. Before 10 AM and after 4 PM in most places, the sun's angle makes everything more manageable. This is when summer lampin' really opens up.
Spend a week noticing shade patterns in your neighborhood. Where does good shade exist at different times of day? Build a mental map. This becomes your summer lampin' guide.
The Cooling Rituals
Summer lampin' isn't just about location—it's about the small rituals that make heat bearable. These aren't complicated, but they matter.
The cold drink. Not for gulping, but for holding. A cold can or bottle against your wrist or neck. The condensation dripping. Occasional sips. The drink is as much a cooling tool as it is refreshment.
The wet cloth. Old school but effective. A bandana or small towel, dampened and draped over your neck or laid across your forehead. As it evaporates, it pulls heat away. Simple physics, profound comfort.
The fan. Hand fans are underrated. There's something almost meditative about the slow, repetitive motion. Plus they actually work. Moving air evaporates sweat, which is your body's whole cooling strategy.
The water proximity. Even if you're not swimming, being near water helps. Lakes, rivers, fountains, even a backyard hose. Water cools the surrounding air and changes the whole feel of a space.
The Golden Hours
Summer's harshest hours—roughly 11 AM to 3 PM—are for indoor activities or aggressive shade-seeking. But the hours on either side? That's when summer lampin' shines.
Morning lampin' (6-10 AM): The world is fresh. Dew might still be on the grass. The heat hasn't built yet. Coffee outside in the early morning quiet is a completely different experience than indoor coffee.
Evening lampin' (5-9 PM): The heat breaks. The light softens. This is when everyone comes back outside. Porches fill up. Parks get busy with the good kind of busy—people out enjoying, not rushing.
These are the hours worth protecting. When someone suggests a mid-day activity in summer, I've learned to counter-propose early morning or early evening instead. The experience is better, and you're not fighting the sun.
Summer's best hours are the ones most people sleep through or fill with dinner prep. Claim them for lampin'.
Night Lampin'
Summer nights are their own category. The heat radiates back up from the pavement. The air smells different—jasmine, cut grass, someone's barbecue from hours ago. Sounds carry further. There's a looseness to summer nights that other seasons don't have.
This is when lampin' extends naturally. You don't have to go inside when it gets dark because it's not getting cold. You can sit outside at 10 PM and still be comfortable in shorts. The night opens up as an option.
Some of my best summer lampin' memories are from late nights. Sitting on a stoop with a friend at midnight, no agenda, watching the occasional car go by. The city still warm, still alive, but quieter. These hours feel stolen in the best way.
Pay attention to the moment when the night air finally cools. It happens at a certain point—could be 11 PM, could be 2 AM depending on the day. When you feel that shift, that's the signal that summer is doing its evening exhale.
Navigating the Social Pressure
Here's the tricky part: summer comes with social expectations. Everyone wants to do things. The nice weather creates this urgency—"we have to take advantage of it!" And you don't want to be the person who never does anything.
The key, I've found, is being strategic. Say yes to the things that actually sound good, the ones that align with lampin' energy. Beach day where you'll actually have time to sit and stare at the water? Yes. Overscheduled group trip with seventeen planned activities? Probably not.
And when you say no, you don't have to explain that you're planning to sit on your porch and do nothing. "I have plans" is a complete sentence. Your plans are lampin'. They're just as valid as anyone else's beach trip.
The Phone Problem
Summer documentation is a whole thing now. Everyone's posting their summer. The pressure to have a photogenic season is real. And I get it—summer light is beautiful, and there are genuinely great moments worth capturing.
But I've noticed that the more I document, the less I actually experience. The best summer moments are the ones where I forget I have a phone. Where the light is so good and the air is so warm and the company is so right that recording it doesn't even occur to me.
Those moments don't show up on social media, but they show up in my memory. The summer I remember best is not the one with the most photos—it's the one where I was actually present for it.
The Simplicity Test
When planning summer activities, I've started applying what I call the simplicity test: Does this activity have room for doing nothing?
A beach day where you can sit and stare at waves for hours? Passes the test. A beach day packed with volleyball and frisbee and scheduled lunches and sunset reservations? Fails it.
A barbecue where people drift in and out and you can post up in one spot all afternoon? Passes. A barbecue that's actually a party with expectations about circulating and performing socialness? Fails.
The activities that pass the simplicity test are the ones that end up being regenerative instead of depleting. They have lampin' built in.
Summer doesn't owe you productivity. You don't owe summer anything except your presence. Find some shade and stay a while.