A Love Letter to July 2026

Jul 31
3 min read

My dearest summer month, how dare you leave me? What a wonderful time we've had!

Dear July,

You were never going to be a quiet month. With America's 250th anniversary, the World Cup, and the remaining energy of a historic New York Knicks win, you were always going to be exciting to say the least. (GO KNICKS! 🗣️)

You arrived with sunshine spilling through open windows, music drifting from parks, and the kind of energy that whispers, go outside, your life is happening. Somewhere between long walks, house music, conversations that lingered after midnight, and moments I wanted to bottle forever, I realized something: I was finally participating in my own life again.

You reminded me that joy doesn't always come from grand vacations or life-changing milestones. Sometimes it looks like catching a bus to an event on a whim. Dancing until your feet ache. Sitting in the grass while the sun sets. Finding yourself in a room full of strangers who somehow feel familiar because everyone is chasing the same feeling—a moment worth remembering.

This month reminded me that life is truly what you make of it and there's no better time than the present! The present is a gift! 🎁 I wanted my summer fun to have the same energy as holiday magic.

The holiday magic we remember as children was the hard work and intentional planning of our relatives, and I insisted on treating summertime with the same thoughtful curation as would a holiday season.

This month I challenged myself to have a new experience everyday! A real Phineas and Ferb ass summer!

I danced more this month.

I laughed harder.

I met new people.

I spent more time outdoors than I have in a long time.

I fell back in love with movement and fitness.

I made memories instead of excuses.

This month reminded me of balance and duality.

There were moments of frustration. Moments where I questioned people I love. Moments where I felt misunderstood, irritated, lonely, or unsure of what comes next. There were days when I wanted everything to move faster—my career, my dreams, my bank account, my confidence.

But maybe that's why I loved you so much.

Because you held space for both.

For ambition and rest. For gratitude and disappointment. For laughter and tears. For certainty and questions.

This month gave me quiet, steady progress.

As August waits around the corner, I don't want to rush past what you gave me.

Thank you for reminding me that life isn't only made in the milestones. It's stitched together by ordinary Saturdays, spontaneous adventures, difficult conversations, and tiny acts of courage that nobody else notices.

Thank you for the sunshine.

For the music.

For the moments that made me feel like myself again.

With love,

Bria Nicole Wood

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