Kalen Olson Shares Simple Summer Rituals That Will Change How You See Time

The sweet moments of summer aren’t reserved for fancy holidays or the rare times we feel we can finally escape the pace of life. If we let it, summer can whisper a savoury embrace like a warm sunset—seemingly in the distance, yet close enough to touch in the heart. Carving out time to savour the stretch of sunlight that only comes once a year isn’t just for piña coladas on a faraway beach. The sultry magic of lingering a little longer can be found right in front of us.

After racing through days and trying to cram in as much as possible, I began to ponder—what if the small moments were to feel big? Could my relationship with time really shift if I made my life a daily ceremony? I realised that celebrating the one precious life I have wouldn’t come from someone telling me to live differently. I had to choose it. I had to decide that summer gets to feel sacred and artful—because I said so.

At first, it didn’t arrive with fanfare. It came in the mornings, inhaling fresh pine air on the deck. In the clink of ice against glass in my iced latte—soft percussion in the rhythm of my day, a quiet promise of both refreshment and presence. It came in letting the night air kiss my cheeks through an open window. In honouring my tears as deeply as my laughter.

It showed up in the summer blackberries that decorated my salads—flavour explosions against the contrast of greens and goat’s cheese. In the coolness of a shower on sun-warmed skin after a long day at the lake. Slowly, the days I thought I didn’t have time became chapters filled with sensory memory, steeped in meaning.

It was in the intention of lighting a candle while I cooked. In blasting Stevie Nicks and letting my hips sway while unloading dishes. I started to see: the big moments were the small moments. Woven into my days like threads of beauty and reverence, they formed a tapestry far richer than I could have imagined. This sacredness wasn’t loud. It wasn’t grand. It was cultivated slowly, with care.

And the more of these soft, subtle moments I allowed myself to feel, the more expansive time began to feel. I no longer needed the clock to look different. I learnt to dance with time in a new way—to embrace the quiet unfolding of moments I used to miss. I didn’t have to abandon my responsibilities. The spaciousness I created actually became the fuel for all of life’s other moments. Time hadn’t changed. I had. My perception of time had.

Brewing sun tea on the porch brought me back to the childlike delight of running through sprinklers. Arranging charcuterie as art for a dinner party reconnected me—with myself and with the laughter circling around me. A thoughtful wine pairing opened the door to storytelling and depth. The more I said yes to these simple pleasures, the more I discovered a deep well of bigger yeses I had once shied away from. My body became the temple. My life, an act of worship.

Mornings infused with jasmine body oil reminded me of the magic in simply being alive—nourished, awake, and present. The everyday moments I once rushed through became a living canvas of play. I realised that as sweet as exotic getaways were—and I still loved them—I could create that same warmth anywhere. I was weaving cool, delicious elixirs of joy found in the here and now. Like someone dear once told me: Don’t create a life you need a holiday from. I finally understood. It didn’t have to be the cherry on top of a drink by the sea. The moments I was creating each day were the main event.

The more I became present to my life, the less I needed to run from anything. Life could unfold in its own time—if I allowed it, if I trusted it. If I trusted me. I didn’t have to wait for anyone else to create the magic. Life was already dancing with me. All I had to do was say yes. Even a small yes was enough to unlock the magic quietly waiting inside me.

And maybe that’s what summer had been whispering all along—
That the sacred isn’t somewhere far away. It lives here, in the golden sunrise of now.