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Blog 20: The Studio Era - Summer is never the problem. The pitch is.

I sat in my friend's kitchen while my tea went cold. Twenty minutes she spent photographing a smoothie bowl for IG. Moving the spoon and adjusting the blinds to get the light - just right. Wiping the rim, adjusting the berries and placing the spoon - getting everything at just the right angle.

By the time she was done the granola was soggy and the berries looked smashed.

"It has to look right," she said. Like she had to create this masterpiece for people to witness. Peeled to her phone to check if anyone liked it yet. Already scrolling to see if the algorithm picked it up.

The moment was gone, but the performance was captured.

Ten years ago, summer marketing was simple. Beach body ads. Swimsuit sales. Vacation packages. You know the manipulation was obvious, sometimes even clumsy, you could see it coming.

Then it got smarter.

"Summer potential workshops." "Seasonal embodiment practices." "Solstice intention circles ." The language evolved from shame to self-improvement, but the message stayed identical. Your summer still wasn't enough the way it was, it still needed fixing.

Social media influence appeals to our not-enoughness. That's what makes it work.

When people stopped buying transformation, they started selling "alignment." When alignment felt hollow, it became "embodiment." When embodiment got stale, it morphed into "nervous system regulation for summer expansion."

The machine learns. It watches what we reject and repackages the same emptiness in language we haven't learned to distrust yet.

Now, the emails arrive coded in wellness speak. "Don't spiritually bypass your summer potential." "Are you nervous-system ready for seasonal shifts?" It’s the same urgency dressed in better outfits.

Everything has to happen fast or you're falling behind.

The sophistication is what's astounding. They've managed to map our resistance patterns. When we stopped falling for "beach body ready," they offered us "somatic summer practices." When we rejected diet culture, they sold us "intuitive seasonal eating programs."

The platform algorithms learned too. They stopped showing us obvious ads. Now it's the wellness influencer's "candid" morning routine. The law-of-attraction coaches flashing their exotic summer locations. The trauma coach's "authentic" summer struggles. The nervous system specialist's "vulnerable" share about seasonal overwhelm.

All leading to the same funnel with the same promise and the identical price point.

You have to earn your place in every group by proving you're doing it right.

They've weaponized our hunger for belonging. Summer book clubs that become marketing circles. "Free" seasonal challenges that extract email addresses. Community groups where every genuine question gets redirected to someone's paid program and email list.

Even rebellion gets center stage. "Reject diet culture by joining my anti-diet summer intensive." "Break free from toxic productivity with my sustainable systems course." The machine absorbs our refusal and sells it back to us.

The friend with the smoothie bowl…. never ate it. Too busy crafting the caption about nourishing her temple. Obsessed with whether the algorithm would pick it up. Caught up in the loop of proving she was doing summer right.

I stopped reading the emails years ago. Unsubscribed from lists that made ordinary feel inadequate. Likewise, unfollowed accounts that turn every season into strategy.

No one noticed.

I let my summer exist without documentation. Without improvement plans and with no strategic optimization.

Yesterday I laid mulch in the garden for three hours. Hands dirty, back aching, sweat dripping into my eyes. Nothing photogenic about pulling weeds and crabgrass. No instagram worthy inspirational messages about maintenance.

No one would double-tap that content. But tomatoes don't care about your aesthetic. Neither do the weeds.

The thunderstorm I watched from the porch last week won't inspire anyone's vacation plans. The evenings I spent watering plants wouldn't photograph well. This afternoon, I rifled through old keepsake boxes - and it was unremarkable except it was exactly what I wanted to be doing.

My summer happens in my body, not in anyone's feed. With the weight of humid air against skin and the taste of tomatoes still warm from the vine. July afternoons when time moves like honey and nothing needs optimizing.

The restlessness that comes with heat that won't break. Cicadas that start before sunrise and don't stop until dark. Evening thunderstorms rolling in from the west, creating electricity in the air before they hit.

The hostas are blooming purple spikes along the back fence.
The hydrangeas are about to bloom, the same as they do every year.
The mail carrier comes by around 2:30.

My hibiscus tea tastes identical whether I document it or drink it from my chipped Valentine mug.

I’m unsubscribed.

Love,
Sherry

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About the Author

Sherry writes from the quiet space that opened up when she stopped trying to fix herself. After decades inside spiritual and healing communities, she stepped away from the endless optimization project and discovered what life feels like when you're not constantly working on it.

Her blog, Stay Human, explores what becomes visible from that vantage point - the cultural patterns that seem absurd once you're outside them, the beauty that doesn't need to be earned, and the ordinary rhythms of a life that's no longer performing improvement.

This isn't designed to guide you anywhere. It's honest reflection from someone who's found solid ground after years of seeking. Sometimes it's sharp cultural observation, sometimes it's wonder at simple things, often it's the contradictions that exist when you stop trying to resolve everything.

If you've also stepped away from the endless becoming - or if you're curious what that might feel like - you might find something here that resonates. Welcome in.