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I live out of suitcases more than drawers nowadays, feeling as though I live in a perpetual state of the in-between. As a result of college, I spend more time in airports than I would’ve expected, dubbing this space a type of waiting room — both figuratively and literally. Summer used to feel this way, too, seeming as though the season was synonymous with dedicated nothingness — a blip in time where I could sit back and breathe; however, now, I feel as though the more space for my lungs to expand, the faster my mind races.

Since I was little, I’ve spent my summers in Cape Cod. Living in California, the season provided space for my family of four to visit my paternal relatives. Our days consisted of a buoyant routine: wake up, go to “men’s club” then go to the beach. The routine became a form of ritual, something so innate that it felt surreal. It’s perplexing to look back and wonder when I woke up from this dreamlike trance and felt the sudden need to grow up.

Seemingly out of the blue, waking up was replaced with sleeping in, and “men’s club” was replaced with morning workouts. Bike rides were replaced by driving, and family dinners were replaced by hanging out with friends. These changes went about unchallenged until this past summer when I applied for a job. Somehow this summer job brought me right back to the routines of my youth.

Summers are now a scramble to find an internship and “get experience” — a universal stress-factor for students in college. Each summer I’ve felt as though something was missing, though, almost as if this “experience” I was gaining was making me feel less and less prepared for the “real world.”

On a whim, I decided to apply as a counselor at the Falmouth Men’s Club for the summer of 2023. When I was little, this two hour morning camp was my childhood; my sister and I would wake up Monday through Friday to play capture the flag, drip-drip-drop and kickball with the other girls from town.

Although the name suggests otherwise, The Falmouth Men’s Club is not restricted to boys. Originating in 1948, the club was the product of my ancestors and other community members’ efforts to create a space in which the little boys could play baseball on the field. At the time, it was unheard of for men to run an extracurricular program. In a way, it was a relief for the women to sit back and enjoy their summers while the men organized the children’s activities. However, the exclusion of women held its own implications, as the little girls went about unaccounted for.

Overtime, this club transformed into an organization, welcoming women into the program in the following years. While the club’s name still remains an attestation of their patriarchal roots, the inclusion of all genders allowed me to run the girl’s program with one of my friends this past summer. Waking up on July 5 to drive to my first shift, I could have never anticipated how much this experience would impact my life.

Each morning for the remainder of the summer, I was afforded the opportunity to spend my time with up to 30 girls between the ages of four and 15. From 8:30 to 10:30 a.m., we blasted Taylor Swift songs, made tie-dye shirts, played steal the bacon and colored each other’s hair with chalk. We talked about school and friends and our favorite things. We discussed the Barbie movie (at length) and how to apply makeup (they insisted that they knew what to do because of TikTok). Altogether, I got to know these girls in a way that enabled me to get to know myself.

I think that my perception of growing up accelerated according to societal expectations and opinions. I think that, as I matured, I forgot what it was like to be a little girl. In a twisted sense of fate, this nomadic feeling of being neither little nor old wound up with me finding comfort in the in-between. I realized that I could still live out of suitcases and trade friendship bracelets. I could still watch “childish” movies and have “intellectual” conversations. This job taught me that this in-between-ness, or this so-called-nothingness, is not an inhibitor of stress, but rather a place to sit uncomfortably. After all, your flight will still take off regardless of how much time you spend in the waiting room.