The (Actual) Summer of Carlos

Steven and I met on Tinder. Predictable? Maybe. But what was different about that summer was I was finally doing things for myself, not caring what anyone else thought.

I originally swiped left. (Sorry, Steven.) We met in January, but shit got real that summer. I let go a little. I was not as hyper focused on work and could usually escape at noon on Fridays to check off some bucket list items.

On a whim, we decided to go to Montreal. It was my first time there, our first road trip together … and the first time we said, “I love you.” We’d been dating for five months. We visited majestic cathedrals and landmarks, embraced the “gay-borhood” (see: balloon rainbow), and discovered our love for tuna tartar.

This was the very first of what came to be known as “Summer Fridays.” It was also my first time living the “lake life” of boating, swimming and day drinking on repeat. Bonus: I also got a big award at work. Everything was coming together, professionally and personally. These trips of significance shaped what Summer of Carlos means to us, and hopefully what it will come to mean to you.

More than 50 percent of our weekends that summer were spent in New Hampshire. That’s where I really fell in love with Steven and his connection to this place, to the world. His grandfather’s lake house, where he spent his formative years, became the epicenter for our relationship. I felt like I belonged. I experienced community. There was nostalgia, and there were new memories, like our engagement at Lake Winnisquam.

In Skaneateles, we discovered our love of spas. Now, anywhere we travel, the first thing we do is look up spas and make sure we book at least one massage. (Self-care.) So if you look at Summer of Carlos as a visual, you’ll see a ton of pictures of me in robes. (You’re welcome.)

That summer, we went to Provincetown twice. Once was super spontaneous, booking a hotel en route in the car. That first trip, we got the lay of the land. By the next time, we knew the best beaches, restaurants and nightlife. It became our ultimate favorite destination, one we vowed to visit at least once every summer.

Then in 2020, we were asked to move to Nashville with Steven’s company. (I work there now, too.) So we sold our house, got married, moved to Tennessee and put down roots. As much as a couple dedicated to spontaneity can.

Here’s the bottom line. The “Summer of Carlos” was transformative for us both. Before it, we were the very definition of workaholics, never doing anything just for ourselves. We intentionally sought to disrupt our routine, and we’d do it all again …

 … will you?