The streets are no longer blanketed in white, and the temperature has risen a significant 60 or so degrees. The holidays are far behind us, and we've successfully not only made it through the fall semester but another whole year of college. We’ve stomached another five months of pub food, finals, and the rest of the lovely curveballs life has hurled at us this year. So it is no surprise that we’re all pretty pumped for summertime. No more 8 AM classes or loads upon loads of homework… But I think rather than closing our books, packing up our dorms, and diving head first into summer, we need some type of midway celebratory holiday. A place to acknowledge our hard work the past six months, and more importantly to take a second and pray for another six months of health, growth, opportunities, family, and friends because Life is too fragile and unpredictable to live for new Januarys and old Decembers.

A. Manette Ansay said, “and it occurs to me how fragile our lives are, how at any moment the sky can open and drown us, the earth can open and swallow us. I think of all the intricate ways our bodies can betray us, the accidents and atrocities, the missteps, and the misunderstandings.” And that stuck with me.

What I guess I’m saying is that we need a summer New Years. A year ago I wrote an article, Why We Need A June New Years. In that article, I mentioned the heart-shattering Orlando shootings, and briefly spoke about the strength of my mom (which still amazes me.) A year later, and I still don’t think I can write a proper article wrapping my head around these events. But I write this article, clinging to the strong belief that we need some type of June New Years. Not the kind where millions of people gather in Times Square, or where you get champagne drunk and scramble to lock lips with the closest (and hopefully cutest) stranger at midnight. Rather, that kind of New Years mentality. Not necessarily the “New year, new me,” one. More of technically, “same year, better me.” What I’m trying to get at is that we need this “Half New Years” to reflect. To reflect on all the good, the bad, and everything that keeps us going. Maybe revisit some old resolutions, and most importantly to give ourselves a little pat on the back.

Maybe you’re wrinkling your nose, shaking your head, and absolutely despising the idea that I’m throwing at you. Why would we ever promote an idea that allows for another unnecessary round of Jenny Craig commercials, rowdy strangers, and really bad cell phone reception? Then you're misunderstanding, or maybe I’m not clearly presenting my idea. But a June Years should be for yourself. (So no, no weight loss commercials, or another huge holiday.) Just a self-dedicated time of reflection, and appreciation.

Ok. So I guess we can take a morning, and think about everything that has happened in the past six months. Then what? I guess it’s the most of what you make it, and this idea has some flaws. It would be easy if we could bottle everything up. Not just revisit some old pictures, but be able to bottle up the feelings we got a certain moment and be able to experience it again. Then when we needed it, we could twist off the top of the jar and boom. Sounds like a twisted new time travel. But it would be nice.

I wish I could bottle up the feeling I got on Christmas mornings when I was five. I’d wrap that feeling up in a box. One that looks like the presents under the tree, with Santa’s handwriting on it. Maybe then throw in a cookie or two.

I wish I could bottle up my grandpa's hugs. The way he smells, his giggle, the way he would fold up my sleeves and rolls his eyes, or when he would check to see if the water was too hot before I washed my hands. I’d bottle up the way he would stand by the door with the porch light on as we waved goodbye and pulled out of the driveway. I’d throw in a deck of cards, too. I’d revisit the way he would look over his glasses as we played cards. Or the way their old house smelled.

I wish I could bottle up my mom's laugh. I’d wrap it tightly with her hugs in the morning, and kisses at night. I’d save the way the house smells on Sunday afternoons.

I'd bottle up the way my dad, mom, sister, and I all gather for family dinner every night at the kitchen table. I'd save the conversations, and all the laughs.

I would bottle up the pretty sunset that shines from the perfect spot on the drive home from Grandmas. I’d put it in clear jar so that I could see the colors, and air tight, so it can’t escape.

I would bottle up puppy kisses. The kind that wake you up in the morning, and greet you when you come home from school.

I’d wish I could bottle up the way the moon used to follow our car home at night as I tried to sleepily keep my eyes open and figure out how in the world it was doing that, and why it picked me.

I’d bottle up the feeling I got after finishing a good book. The kind of book that makes the hair on your neck stand up, and goose bumps to run all over your body. I’d bottle up the “OMG” moments, when I can’t believe that character is actually doing that. Or the moments that made me cry. I’d save these for when I needed a good read and to escape whatever is in front of me. So that I could feel the words all over again for the first time.

I’d bottle up the feeling you get when your standing in front of the ocean. The salty wind brushing over your face, and through your hair. I’d place in some of the stars from the spot in gravel driveway where when you look up, you can see the entire sky.

Time passes too quickly, and these moments slip away from us.

“Some days I wish I could go back in life, not to change things, just to feel a few things twice.”