June 16, 2013
It’s a sunny Sunday afternoon and I am sitting in one of my favorite spots. It’s a small side table in the sunroom of a small red house a block from the beach. This is one of the places I can really think, with very few interruptions and very few distractions.
My wife’s family has come to this small family beach town for decades. I’ve only been coming for four years, but it has become one of the cornerstones of my life. By late morning, all the girls are headed up to the beach to sit, tan, swim, and relax. The boys scatter - either to putter around the house or fish or workout. For me, my goal is to end up right here.
This whole town always seems relaxed. There are no hotels, no clubs, and only a handful of restaurants. Everything operates slowly. People walk and ride bikes; if they drive, they drive slowly. Walking up to the beach, the highlights are conversations about life, a finch on a powerwire, and some classic people watching. We come here to unwind, to dream about the future, and to enjoy the present.
When the girls run up to the beach, I run here. I sit down with my laptop, a few pieces of paper and a pen, and I try to spit out what the hell it is I’m trying to say. And there’s so much. So many ideas, so many dreams, so many future projects, books, poems, stories, revelations, advice, letters.
Elsewhere, all of this gets jumbled in my head. There’s too much to sort out, and doing nothing is much easier. But here, where things move slowly, we can think slowly, and get more done.