There is no moral imperative to enjoy every summer day

Every year when the summer starts it brings with it guilt. I finish work, come back home from the office, stand in our balcony looking onto the building's little internal patio and wonder: should I be outside, enjoying the summer? Getting your feet wet in the ocean feels like a proper summer activity and, as I lived most of my life not more than 500 meters from the shore, I got to do that very often. Whenever I wanted, actually. It took no more than half an hour to get there, wet the feet, satisfy the urge and come back home. One feels entitled to mark the summer day as properly enjoyed, when one has wet their feet in the ocean. But now I live in Berlin, no ocean to be seen, and the ethereal "enjoying the summer" precept gets a bit harder to define and enforce. What is it exactly that I feel I should be doing? Sitting in the park in the 35 degree weather, uncomfortably reading a book for twenty minutes? Spending money on coffees I don't really want, to read a book in the café for a…