Tiny Perfect Summer Things
One of my favorite movies is Groundhog Day. And it’s only gotten better with each watch. As I grow and change, it hits different. My understanding changes. More and more, it gets funnier and more devastating. For whatever reason, it just speaks to my soul. And, I’m always a sucker for time anomaly themes. It’s just about the perfect movie.
So bless my soul when I discovered the teen version in the little-known film on Amazon called The Map of Tiny Perfect Things.
In the film, we meet Mark, a teen boy who’s stuck in a time loop, forced to repeat the same day over and over again. Being a kid, he’s initially less concerned about why this is happening or its ramifications and seems to roll with it. He enjoys being able to anticipate what will happen being a step ahead of people, beating his snarky sister to the punch or helping his dad with the crossword he’s working on before his dad even mentioned it.
He sets up a daily routine for himself wherein he goes about the town doing little kindnesses for people, like stopping a man from taking another step where, a second later, a bird poops. Or he packs some kitchen tongs so that at the right moment, he can help pull down the lady’s skirt that got bunched up in the back.
Or he has fun by knowing the exact moment to jump in the big tractor at a construction site and drive it around town. Or celebrating with people in a diner when his numbers for the lottery are announced. He sets up little goals for himself that he can try again and again and again. He suffers no consequences and has no real concerns, knowing that no matter what happens, he gets to do it all again tomorrow.
He feels omniscient, the center of the universe. The only one awake in a world that’s sadly, piteously asleep.
Until one day when he meets a girl, Margaret, who steps into Mark’s highly predictable world and disrupts his normal chain of events. She breaks it, and he is shocked to realize that she must be like him, caught in a loop and aware of it.
He also realizes how lonely this existence has been and Mark and Margaret form a friendship. To make their static life mean something, or as a fun way to pass the time, they decide to work together to discover every perfect moment of the day. They run all over town to discover them. The tennis ball bouncing off a cooler and hitting someone in the back of the head. Or a hawk touching down, plucking a fish out of the water. Or a janitor sitting down at a piano in an empty room and playing amazingly.
I won’t give it away but the ending is truly masterful. For me, right now, it is the perfect movie.
Why do I love it? There is something really fulfilling with exploring the idea of what if you could do your day again. To see the effect your actions truly have on the world around you. And I love the themes, like what am I doing with my life when it feels so routine, so predictable, maybe boring and unchanging? How do I make it special, how do I get unstuck? How do I make this dumb day or moment matter? How do I find the hidden gems, the pockets of joy, the tiny perfect things just waiting to be discovered? And what are my relationships like along the way? This approach to life is right up my alley and one I subscribe to.
This year I am paying special attention to reading books that are the right books for me in the moment I’m in. Sometimes the season I’m in. I feel it out and I’m always searching. I have to wait and hope I find it. Sometimes the right book is a mid-grade I read in Jr High (just finished Megan’s Island. Holler at Willo Davis Roberts, fave kid mystery writer).
But other times I’m looking for something that reflects the current search of my soul. So bless it again when I found the perfect book for me this summer:
The Brain at Rest: How the Art and Science of Doing Nothing Can Improve Your Life, by neuroscientist Joseph Jebelli.
I once had a class that was half psychology majors, half neuroscience. If I hadn’t been so scared of science, (strike ten with physics and chemistry) I might have switched over then and there. So immediately I can see this book will speak to many of my passions: The brain, art, science, and doing nothing.
I am only a quarter in so far but I am loving it. Right off the bat on page six he says,
”As a general rule, the more time you spend doing nothing, the better it is for your brain.”
Go on. Say more about that.
He reports on a meta-analysis of dozens or even hundreds of studies that say that, though 15-minute breaks are real nice, the brain functions better after longer periods of rest, like between four and twenty-four hours.
What I find particularly interesting is that apparently, it’s not that we use our brains the most when we’re focused on something. Surprising studies show that when a person stops focusing and just sits and looks out the window, the brain lights up all over the place. It’s working.
This is when we get ideas or come up with solutions to problems, where creativity is ignited. It’s when we stop doing. (I’m overusing italics but i can’t stop, this feels important!!) When we break our focus from tasks and just sit and be. I love science-backed evidence for why we should do things I already do, don’t you?
This explains why it’s so important for me to be alone and why supposedly “doing nothing” feels so productive.
Here’s a line from the brain book that hits the bullseye for me:
“Life is essentially made up of what we choose to notice, and when we get better at noticing things, even the smallest, most ordinary things, we start to experience a deeper sense of significance.”
I’d like to replace the word “significance” and offer some more specific alternatives: “meaning,” “understanding,” “beauty,” “purpose,” “connection,” “wonder,” “how to fully exist.”
As you choose to experiment on this, feel free to add your own words when the effect is revealed to you (and then tell me because I really like words- and science experiments).
For me, this book is perfect for summer because doing nothing is such an important part of it. I do not thrive in a busy-making, over-scheduled day-to-day life. My sensitivity makes me quite averse to it. But it seems to be an epidemic of our time.
I am not someone who’s naturally high risk for what philosopher Alain de Boutton calls “status anxiety,” which is anxiety coming from fear of not living up to status ideals as dictated by society.
”This anxiety makes being busy not just a necessity but a status symbol, a way to validate our own existence and self worth.”
Do you feel more relieved than accomplished from getting so much done in a day? Do you fear sitting down? Do you work to be constantly moving/achieving/serving because only then can you feel ok about yourself, only this can give you what turns out to be a short-lived feeling of calm? This might be coming from status anxiety.
I said I’m not high risk but I’m not no risk. I feel it too. But my body, chemistry, and soul-spirit have stronger voices and I get more from listening to them.
It’s good any time to find that balance between being and doing, but in summer, I especially make it a point. I take care not want to over-fill my days. The downtime is important. It is during these moments that I take stock of things, or consider things, notice things I might not otherwise. Sometimes the strangest ideas come into my mind. Downtime summertime is when my earliest childhood memories are recalled in flashes. Memories of laying on grass looking at the sky, or examining the earth up close. Of hiding in some secret place. All of them come from summer, spurred by summer, connecting me to myself.
If you feel too lazy doing this, take heed of John Lubbock’s words in The Pleasures of Life,
”Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”
Summer is my chance to take advantage of more time to sleep and think and work creatively in longer stretched out days. In summer stillness. And it’s in those quiet crucial moments of doing very little where the actual tiny perfect things are revealed. Things I am always in earnest search of.
It’s like Emily Dickinson says,
”The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”
And when you stand with your soul bared like that, you’re more likely to notice a thing, and so when it inevitably happens, the more it matters to you, and you’re excited to share it, like Jane Austen who said in a letter to her sister this classic opener,
“Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?”
So, in honor of this and also the “summer lists” my mom made for us of THE most random chores to keep us from completely devolving into summer sloths, (incidentally my favorite exhibit at the local aquarium I visited recently) here is a sampling of my 2025 Summer List of Tiny Perfect Things:
Perfect Summer Kitten. My cat got spayed this summer and the little onesie she had to wear for two weeks to keep her from bothering the incision was the most adorable thing. She couldn’t move much and this kitten is a mover so we had to get creative in our careful, stationary play. I’m trying to keep her as an inside cat but oh how desperate she is for otherwise. Finally after two weeks of convalescing, I let her go outside wearing a little cat harness and long leash/rope. It’s hot pink and she hates it and I love it.
I sat in the shade reading my book learning all of this important neuroscience and I looked up at her romping in the garden and thoughts, Cats are so good at this. We should all be like cats. I watched her as she watched a bug and she had her gaze so locked onto it that as it flew over her head, she toppled over and rolled a little. It was hilarious and adorable and I was like, Thanks book, for teaching me to just sit and stare. It was a little gift.
As Julian says, all fluff and no meat. Perfect Summer Song: Only the Young by Brandon Flowers. I first discovered this song eleven summers ago. Brandon is not just a songwriter, he’s a composer. And this song shows why. Most songs that I love contain less-favored parts that I simply endure. Like, I’m not sure I’ve ever met a bridge I’m super fond of.
But this song is different. I love every aspect of it: His beautiful voice, his complex chords and harmonies, the storytelling, the instrumentation (cool synthy digital beeps and tones 4+EVER) the pulse and beat, how it’s complex and rich and full of sounds and poetry, the blend of which honestly transcends me for just a minute. It’s the perfect song from start to finish. Thanks B. Flowers.Perfect Summer Moment at the Cleaners: The cleaners I go to is the kind where you drive up and they have an open door and will hang up your clothes for you in the backseat. On this day, I pulled up and a guy in his 20’s helped me. I told him my info, he found my stuff and he hung it up for me. I handed him my card to pay and as he was handing it back to me—the final step in this whole process—he said,
“Hi, how can I help you today?”
Ha ha ha. I looovvve gaffes like this. Like a ball off the back of someone’s head, I will always laugh. At first we both froze, he in horror and me wondering if I was caught in a time loop, and then I burst out laughing in his sweet face as he covered it with his hands in total humiliation. His coworker behind him joined in and I said to the guy in teasing sympathy, “Have you been doing this a lot today? Did your brain break a little?” He just stood there and took our laughing and I told him, “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re doing so good!” and he quietly muttered, “thank you” into his hands. No, son. Thank you.Perfect Summer Activity: Watching tennis. Watching tennis is probably in my top five favorite things to do and I have made a particular goal this summer to watch as much as I possibly can. I watched the French Open and right now I am in the throes of pure Wimbledon bliss. Every day when I wake up I’m like, yay! Because there are matches to watch.
What I love: The diving and sliding on the grass. The British manners and white uniform rule. I love the intensity and intimacy of one vs one and how the crowd is right there with the players, gasping, groaning, cheering support and then quickly hushing up, then doing it all again like a rollercoaster you never want to get off of. I love the near unbearable tension of volleying and really long rallies and marveling at the skill and speed and freakish wizardry of placing the ball in the perfect spot. I love the way the pendulum of power goes back and forth, back and forth: “deuce! ad-this person! deuce! ad-that person! It is the perfect sport. It is thrilling and the best, most perfect thing I could be doing right now.
Perfect Summer Muffins. This summer, I’ve been on a feverish quest to make the perfect muffins. Like cherry and chocolate and almond and cardamom, or oat muffins with stone fruit and yogurt. I don’t know if I’ve achieved it, but there’s something perfect about this being a particular summer goal, and maybe never even reaching it. I have, however, had perfect muffin moments, like using up the last bit of like three different ingredients—the exact amount needed—in one recipe, which I declared a miracle, and which restored a bit of balance in the universe and sent me into a state of total baking nirvana.
Perfect Summer Sundays. Sunday carries a certain tone and energy. In summer, it’s felt all the more. Sean cooks for us, he and I sit together and talk, maybe play 2-person bananagrams, the three of us look at the latest Instagrams I’ve been collecting to share, and later we have a second dinner of bubble waffles or cornbread (not muffins though—it’s a day of rest). But we seem to take extra care to make the rest a holy rest. Holy nothing-doing.
I will always choose pancakes over waffles…unless they’re bubble waffles, where you can pull apart the little waffle balls. Like a bunch of mini-ebelskivers made instantly. Perfect Summer Joke. One hot summer night after a confused sky full of clouds and sun tried so hard to rain and came up with ten really good drops, I was sitting on the grass basking in said sky, chatting with some friends and at a really pivotal moment, the cosmos aligned and I made a really good joke. This is meaningful for me because I have been on the cusp of believing I might have permanently lost all my funny, one of my deepest fears and biggest current threats to my life.
summer sky hits different Perfect Summer Tree Shade. The moment with my cat was pretty good. But there are other tree shade-specific moments that are even more perfect. Julian’s been busy this summer with online classes and camps and creative projects of his own. Sometimes, though, he’ll come out and find me reading on the patio and just sort of stand there, waiting for something.
It’s quiet, the summer hum low, and I pause for just a second and then hear it loudly as my cue to say, “Wanna go sit under the tree?” And he says yes and I tell him to go grab some popsicles and we sit and he starts telling me things that can only be said whilst eating popsicles under the shade of a summer tree.
That’s another thing about nothing-doing. I’m not just reading when I’m reading. I’m waiting. For moments like these.This brings me to Perfect Summer Rituals. They happen organically, each falling into a rhythm of its own making. I watch and wait to see how I fit into it, if at all. But I try notice them.
I spend a lot of my time watching Julian have one of his last few childhood summers. I know by now I can’t really make it be anything it isn’t going to be, so I just like to observe, facilitate where I can, and then sit back, see what shape it takes, and just sort of be there.
His summer reading has mostly consisted of screenplays or a Russian novel or two. I made him a semi-fake summer chore chart on the first day of summer that said, “Read something fluffy for 20 minutes.” I beg him to just give Michael Crichton a chance but he refuses.
He spends his summer nights ticking off his very lengthy movie watch list one by one. He watches alone. He is very much into foreign films and important filmmakers the likes of which we’ve never heard. He’s incorporated this art form more and more into his vernacular. I can hear it in his speech, even about unrelated things.
I guess it’s seeping into his brain because in the morning when he wakes, it’s become a ritual for him to come find me and tell me all about his last night watch and weird vivid dreams that are somehow told in screenplay form. Sometimes I suggest that watching some disturbing Russian film might not be the best thing before bed but he disagrees. Also his dreams are pretty entertaining, so I could be wrong.
He’s given me a list of important films I must watch so he has someone to discuss them with other than Chat GPT which is super sad. He excitedly says he’s had some pretty good conversations and I find this deeply upsetting. I told him he should at least give it a name like Chad G. Petey but we all immediately thought this was too stupid to really consider. “My friend Chad, he said…”Perfect Summer Discovery. Along with that, and to close, I recently learned that the way the French say “Chat GPT” is “Shah jay pay tay” which in French sounds exactly like “Chat, j’ai pété,” which translates to, “cat, I farted.” So every time the French refer to Chat GPT they are forced to say “cat, I farted” and well, if that isn’t a perfect thing, I don’t know what is.
