Earlier this week, the earth reached its greatest distance from the sun, a point known as “aphelion.” It seems counterintuitive that Earth reaches aphelion in summer, but it’s the planet’s tilt, not its proximity to the sun, that gives us the season.
At aphelion, we’re about 94.5 million miles from the sun, a distance so vast as to be unfathomable. What we can fathom: our two feet pressing into Earth, taking up just inches of space. We’re here, now, in this room, in this house, in this town, a body and a mind and five senses taking in as much as we can. We’re so small, but so powerful that we can think and dream and fuss and project entire worlds into existence. And then we think those worlds are the entire universe. Meanwhile, the earth’s orbit continues, the sun goes on shining.
Easier to conceptualize: On July 2 at noon, we reached the exact middle of 2026, 182.5 days on either side. We can’t feel this any more than our distance from the sun, but we understand days. We understand the year and its cadence. We can picture the calendar in our minds, our equal distance from last January and next December. I picture the year as a sea, and I’m treading water right here in the middle, two shores equidistant. Of course, there’s no choice but to head for the far coast; the tides will have it no other way.
This coming Friday, Christopher Nolan’s cinematic interpretation of “The Odyssey” opens. Odysseus is hardly a man to tread water in the middle of a punishing sea, but he gets aid from the gods when he’s drowning: “The current ceased; the River God restrained / the waves and made them calm. He brought him safe / into the river mouth.” It takes Odysseus 10 years to make it home from the war. Ten aphelia, 10 summers, 10 midpoints from which to look forward and look back.
Once you know we’re around the midpoint of the year, taking stock becomes irresistible. How’s the year going? According to plan? What’s happened so far? What’s done and what’s still to be done? This sort of audit feels productive; we mustn’t waste time! But what if we’re just here in the middle, observing without judgment, without toiling in one direction or another? There’s a brief moment in the tidal cycle called “slack water,” when the current is momentarily still, neither going out nor coming in. The cycle of flooding and ebbing stops as the tide changes direction. It’s a reset, a breath-taking, a brief pause in the action. If the ocean can cease for a moment its relentless surging, then it certainly seems possible that we can too.
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D.I.Y.: You should know how your house works. Here’s a guide.
For the host with the most: Invited to a party this summer? These ikebana vases, botanical paper crowns and themed napkins make creative, thoughtful gifts.
ADVICE FROM WIRECUTTER
Your pillow is probably too soft
If you find yourself waking up with a sore neck, it might be time to reconsider your pillow. Our heads are like 10-pound bowling balls, and our pillows need to be firm enough to support them and maintain neutral spinal alignment through the night. Some tips: Try lying on the pillow for at least 30 minutes to see how it compresses. Consider swapping down for latex or foam, which research suggests are the best at reducing morning neck pain. And remember that pillows have a break-in period — so be patient before you decide whether it’s a keeper. Wirecutter’s experts have several favorites to kick-start your search. — Shaena Montanari
