🌞 WTF is this 'summer solstice' anyway? 🤷🏻‍♂️

Your favorite spiritual skeptic (that's me) digs into today's astrological holiday and emerges with the ultimate summer to-do list

Howdy! Thank you for coming back to AND ANOTHER THING.

One of the unexpected joys of starting this newsletter has been the reactions it’s sparked. For the first time in my life, I’m appreciating unsolicited feedback. (My friends will attest to this.) I love the comments, the retorts, and the banter, and I’m inspired when friends and even strangers reach out with ideas and new topics.

Last week, I got this text from my friend Peter:

A solstice? What’s that? Another fake mystical social construct invented by demented heathens, like the Zodiac? I didn’t peg Peter as one of those people. When I visited his office, he didn’t have any crystals, no palo santo. I didn’t see any ‘evil eye’ charm bracelets.

This was my reply:

I don’t mean this as a flex: I didn’t know my star sign until I moved to New York City at 18. Missouri’s motto really is the Show Me State because we’re skeptical, salt-of-the-earth people. If we can’t see it, touch it, or deep-fry it, we can’t believe it.

Sure, a few of my girlfriends would flip to the back of YM or Seventeen and giggle over whether a Cancer and a Capricorn were “cosmically compatible.” (Did I date myself by name-dropping YM? Whatever. I loved the quizzes.) But I grew up a God-fearing child who thought the Zodiac was about as spiritually sound as an Ouija board.

Back home, we didn’t blame Mercury in retrograde for being late to an appointment—we blamed traffic, bad time management, or, at the very least, a bad hair day.

Peter got back to me with this:

He added a link to The New York Times calendar sync, which explained, “It’s the scientific start to summer in the Northern Hemisphere, when this half of the world tilts toward the sun.”

I hate it when friends prove me wrong—and cite their sources.

Fine, I stand corrected. This is science. Measurable. Predictable. Backed by NASA, not TikTok.

In today’s AND ANOTHER THING, I’m teaching myself—and any other astronomically confused naysayers—what exactly the solstice is. And more importantly, it’s actually a great moment to pause and plan what we want to do with the time we have left on Earth. (No pressure!)

What is the summer solstice?

The word solstice comes from the Latin solstitium: “sol” meaning sun and “stitium” meaning to stand still. During a solstice, the sun reaches its highest and northernmost point in the sky, which—to us mere mortals—appears to pause. For a few days before and after, the shift in the sun’s arc across the sky is so subtle that the sun itself seems to “stand still.”

Scientifically speaking, the solstice occurs when Earth’s axial tilt—about 23.5 degrees—points the North Pole most directly toward the sun. (Fun fact: that tilt is why we have seasons in the first place.) On the summer solstice, the sun is directly overhead the Tropic of Cancer, creating the longest day of sunlight in the Northern Hemisphere.

In 2025, this happens today, Friday, June 20th, at exactly 4:50 PM EST.

At higher latitudes (Alaska, Iceland, and parts of Scandinavia), the solstice brings phenomena like midnight sun: literal 24-hour daylight. In the Southern Hemisphere, today is the shortest day of the year. (Hi, Sydney. Sorry about the chill.)

Historically speaking, the solstice was a big deal long before we started using it as a news peg for newsletters. The Druids—a ruling religious and political class from the 4th century B.C. to the 2nd century A.D.—celebrated it at Stonehenge, which remains a pilgrimage site every June. In ancient Egypt, the solstice aligned with the annual rise of the Nile, the lifeblood of their civilization.

And then there’s Midsommar. Leave it to the Scandinavians to invent the modern summer rager: bonfires, maypoles, flower crowns, pagan rituals, and more schnapps than seems safe for daylight hours. I found this explanation from Alexander Skarsgård—the legendarily sexy Swede—both informative and strangely erotic.

Moving on…

If today is the longest day of the year, you know what that means: The days start getting shorter tomorrow.

We’re already three weeks into summer. Memorial Day has come and gone, Pride flags are flying, and my inbox is drowning in OOO auto-replies.

We’ve got about ten-ish weeks left. So what do we want to do with them?

Behold! Inspired by the slow, steady, and merciless march to fall, here is my summer TO DO LIST. Feel free to borrow any of it.

1. Read more fiction. I always make a beeline for biographies and read almost exclusively non-fiction. But sometimes I wonder if I’m missing something. I know everyone (and by everyone, I mean Oprah) is talking about Ocean Vuong’s new novel, The Emperor of Gladness, so I’m bumping it to the top of my list. (If you haven’t read his Q&A in The New York Times, you should. It might be the most powerful and emotional interview I’ve ever read.) And, oh! I just finished

   Molly Jong-Fast
   ’s new memoir How to Lose Your Mother — which was incredible (and incredibly sad) — and realized I’ve never read her famous novelist mother Erica Jong’s 1973 feminist manifesto Fear of Flying. I should add that, too.

2. Be more spontaneous. Unpredictability is the new luxury. Our phones are anticipating where we’re going, how long it’ll take to get there, and what we’ll want to eat. Let’s throw a wrench in the algorithm. Who wants to meet me tomorrow night (after my kids go to sleep) at the fancy new Westhampton cinema and just see whatever’s playing there?

3. Start using “emotional write-offs.” That’s a phrase my shrink gave me this week. Essentially, he’s telling me to quit taking everything so personally and let people off the hook more easily. Of course, when I am offended, I need to allow myself to acknowledge it—my experience is valid. (Wow, I’m really leaning into my therapy language, huh? ) But recognize it, write it off, and move on. The point is to focus more on the people who make me feel good and less on the ones who don’t.

4. Drink less alcohol. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. I don’t think I have a problem. (Mom, don’t even start with me.) But rosé-all-day is very seductive in the summer, not to mention I recently discovered the joy of martinis at the ripe age of 43, which feels… dangerous? I’ve always lied to my doctor when she asks me how many drinks I have in a week; why don’t I get to the number I tell her?

5. Send more letters. I spent a fortune on Smythson stationery, and it’s just sitting on this desk gathering dust. I suppose the trick will be to find friends who still check their mail. Anyone?

6. Nap more. I subscribe to

   BURNT
   , which provides a weekly reminder that the creator economy is a bottomless pit and the hustle required to stay digitally relevant—whether you’re a full-time Substacker or not—can suck the life out of even the most prolific writers. My solution: siestas. Without guilt. Normalize napping for adults! Why should my kids have all the fun? (That’s a question I ask myself all the time. Maybe we'll flush that out at another time.)

7. Say no to any social event where men will be wearing blue sports coats and colored pants. These kinds of parties are an epidemic in the summer, and I need to get better at identifying them and avoiding them before it’s too late.

8. Abstain from social media for twelve whole hours. Can I go an entire day without checking the Substack app (hi,

   Austin Tedesco
   !), Instagram, or TikTok? Probably not. (Twitter doesn’t count—I deleted it. Fuck Elon.) But can I do half a day? Let’s give it a shot.

9. Lean into random detours. On Memorial Day Weekend, my friend Lauren and I found ourselves in a Civil War reenactment near the Sag Harbor Historical Society. Why don’t we go to more of these? When we were there, I saw a sign advertising an exhibition devoted to wedding dresses from the Victorian Age to the Roaring 20s. Let’s go. Also, off the top of my head, I’ve also never been to Coney Island. Who wants to be the Brittany Murphy to my Dakota Fanning in ‘Uptown Girls’ and go together? Does anyone do outdoor movies anymore? Where are they?

10. Land the plane. I once asked a friend, who was a successful director, how they juggled so many creative projects at once. He compared it to being an air traffic controller. (This was before the current administration gutted that industry and caused havoc, mind you.) At all times, he had about a dozen projects—his version of airplanes—circling in the air, and the most complex part of his job was giving them a soft landing. That resonated with me. I got a bunch of ideas flying around my noggin, including books, collaborations, articles, exhibitions. (The ‘Avedon 100’ show I worked in 2023 will always remain a career highlight.) This summer, I want to clear some runways.

Even to a cynic like me, the notion that we are all experiencing this one long, luminous day together is beautiful. We don’t have to dance around Stonehenge or wear a flower crown (please, don’t), but there’s something worthwhile about honoring an annual pause. A moment to set intentions, to recalibrate. Not in a self-help-y, productivity-guru way. Just in a quiet, human way.

I know this sounds super cheesy, but let me say it:

The longest day of the year isn’t a warning, it’s a gift.

So do something with it—and tell me what it is:

Thanks for reading to the bottom of this newsletter. Have a fabulous solstice, now that I know it’s a real thing!

Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe if you haven’t already—and tell your friends about AND ANOTHER THING.

See you next week,

Derek C. Blasberg

PS. For the record, like I said in my newsletter about pet peeves, I’m still skeptical of people who use astrological explanations to explain everyday occurrences. If I find a parking spot on the street, I thank Jesus, of course.