Sunday, June 7, 2015
It ends. As all things do. The awareness of its approach is bittersweet. It happened yet it can't continue. The place still exists but all you have are the memories. They'll remain intact for as long as you can recall them. Life's moments: some good, some bad, some funny, some disappointing. It's up to each of us what we do with our time. Until the moment we can return to the place of serenity and beauty our memory's eye must keep it alive. Hindsight working overtime. The waves crash. The water laps. The rocks grind down to sand. The beach erodes. The grass blows gently in the breeze. The sun warms all it touches. Either by driving away or by death, everyone must eventually leave their interlude in paradise. The melancholy will fade. Until next time.
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Time is fleeting. Nothing is wasted: every sentence in every book you read, every flash of image you watch in the YouTube video special; important; relevant. Nothing is lost in the moment in which it occurs. How do you make every second count? Don’t be so hard on yourself. Take that walk. Ride that bike. Listen to the crashing waves. Enjoy the coffee, the peace, the quiet, the laughter. Enjoy. Live. Soak up the sun or dance in the rain. Don’t regret. Be present. Do what you want and don’t make your life more difficult by being so hard on yourself. Remember these words the next time you think you’ve squandered a heartbeat or wasted a breath. Remember to be happy. Time is fleeting. That instant is already gone.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
The sun sits high in the sky, beautiful yet misleading. A cool breeze wafts through the trees, a reminder that appearances can be deceiving. The 57 degrees of this 10am morning feels crisp on the skin but the direct sunlight chases away the goose flesh as it warms the hair on the arm. A bowl of cherries sits alone on the the picnic table basking in the rays, ripening in the splendor.
As I peer through the window at the water, disturbed only by the ferry slicing through its calm, I am excited. It's been 4 years since I last set foot on the pavement and sand the makes up Martha's Vineyard. It's easy to remember the things that excited me the last time I was there: the beach, the 24-mile bike ride, turning 40, the recognizable sites from Jaws (what can I say, I'm a fan)...the just being there and breathing the air.
As I float my way back to this magical place, I can see a lighthouse. It's not lighting the rocks and keeping me safe, but reminding me that this is a place that feeds my soul with its history, beauty, and stillness.
My arrival is eminent and my relaxation has begun.