The Summer I Turned Countless.

just stop counting.

I used to be able to count the freckles on my arms.

They were moles, yes, but we didn’t call them that. It wasn’t until I was at a dermatologist appointment in my late 20s that I realized how riddled with moles I am. The doctor asked if I minded him letting a group of students watch while he did my skin-check. I told him I didn’t mind.

He spent the entirety of the skin-check, verbalizing out loud what he saw, inch-by-inch, “Moley… verrrry moley. Moley. Moley… very moley.”

“I think they get the picture, Doc.”

Still, as a child, I remember counting my freckles on my arms. The sweet triangle of three on my right arm, near my elbow. They were part of about a dozen freckles up and down my arms who kept me coming back to myself, counting the constellations of my skin.

I used to be able to count the stars in the sky.

I wasn’t exactly happy about all the light pollution in Seattle, but I knew this was the trade. I laid in the grass behind our apartment after editing and logging a radio show into the night. I counted a few stars at first and then watched as more appeared. Almost 30 showed face, before more stopped appearing.

I used to be able to count the times I’ve fallen in love.

But as a creative who has the privilege to grow older, I’ve learned something: You will fall in love a thousand times in one lifetime. You will fall in love with that writer, that musician, that florist, that tennis player, that fictional character, that mentor, that poet (so many poets), that director, that friend, that runner, that human whose skin is tanned and chest is warm and happens to see you as the person you want to be and you want to be seen as in the moment you need it. The trick is (if you’re lucky enough to be partnered with someone you love dearly) to not ruin your whole life for these fallings. Love will happen. Let it. Acknowledge it. Let it pass. Go home to lay your head on the chest of the one you said you’d fall in love with over and over again forever and ever.

The Summer I Turned Countless.

I counted so many things this Summer. I counted the events I put on for my new job (20); the miles I ran (I don’t wanna talk about it… it’s not enough for the race I have coming up); the number of concerts I got to go to (nine); and at one point I was even counting calories (something I’ve stopped after realizing how I was modeling unhealthy things for my kiddo). Traditionally, I count a lot of things. I strive for a lot of numbers.

After a couple days on the river with friends after a long hike in the Tetons with friends, I look at my arms. I am covered in freckles (and moles. moley… very moley). I am spackled. I am half freckles/moles, half bare skin, all covered in hair. I am countlessly covered. Though I have put copious amounts of sunscreen on and worn my sunshirt frequently, my arms are showing the sun.

Each night, I look up at the sky to find the moon. If Marcie is still awake, she finds it first—a point of pride for her. If the moon is not there, the stars are easier to count. Camping along the South Fork of the Snake River last weekend, Marcie found the sliver of the moon first. I told her to count the stars. She counted, “One, two, three… four… five… ………… Momma, can we do s’mores?”

After she was down to sleep, I went back out to the campfire and laughed with friends. I took a step back from it all at one point to pick up where Marcie left off. Counting the stars, looking for shooting ones. They were absolutely countless. I remembered all the times this Summer when I looked up at night after an event out in the middle of nowhere at a home or out at the Village and saw the stars. The infinite stars.

I was at the home of a couple (a woman and a man) in their 70s, pushing 80. They’ve been married for 50 years. They had a quartet play at their home for an event and as the cellist warmed up, the wife turned to me and said, “I could easily fall in love with a cellist.” We chuckled together. I fell in love with so much newness and so many old friends and so many moments and so many musicians and so many imaginary flames this Summer. I lost count.

This Summer was one of discovery and of letting everything collapse inward from the weight of it all. Countless things of beauty and pain and stars and freckles and loves piled upon me and caused me to buckle under the weight of it all. In that falling, a freedom. Knowing that I’ve become countless in so many ways means we stop counting. I am a galaxy of everything: stars, moles, freckles, loves, laughs, lights, calories, costume-changes, concerts. So much so that I am countless. Don’t bother trying to keep count.

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Quick Hits:

• Jam Of The Week: Blood Orange – Countryside feat. Eva Tolkin, Liam Benzvi, & Ian Isiah.

  (I love and need this chill vibe. new Blood Orange makes me so happy. is Essex Honey a new contender for my Top 10 of 2025? I love listening to the whole album through. it’s great for a coolness coming.)

• These Clubs Are Genius.
  (support artists and subscribe to one. also, Bandcamp, you need to get my girl Sharlese on a club.)

• Going To See This Movie Tomorrow Night.
  (Evan doesn’t know yet. and putting this movie on a list of films I wanna see.)

• This Amazing Essayist Is Coming To Jackson.
  (see you there?)

• REAL Excited For Fall.
  (I will be wearing these jammies every second I’m at home and lighting this candle whilst reading books or watching my shows in between all the Halloween movies.)

• I Love This Home.
  (making me want to live [part-time] in NYC… again.)

• This Poem For September Is Beautiful.
  (different than last week’s poem.)

• Ha!

• Haha.

• Hahaha.

Happy September, my beautifuls. Check your horoscope. Pull some Tarot cards. Let me pull some for you! (if you’re Jackson-side.) Journal. Write. Make stuff. Call your mom. Follow your dreams. I’m so happy you’re here.

xxo,
Rachel.