diggin deep

We started off the morning a little scattered.

The night before had been my unofficial birthday celebration, a lobster feast fortuitously timed to ring in another year of my short life but really the result of Eric the Fisherman's availability in schedule to provide. I swam both before and after dinner. Perfectly calm salty Northumberland strait providing for me as it so often does. This along with the beach fire that Rita arranged and I wanted for nothing.

The next morning we woke early and sure enough, Ernie was up for the clam adventure discussed at dinner. We ate toast and drank coffee, plus blueberries and one half of a banana covered in cream. We packed buckets, shovels, small umbrellas just in case. Ernie arrived and we were off. I was admittedly tired but the drive seemed to take awhile. We knew we needed to go past Kouchibouguac but after that, where? Rita boldly tracked down a fisherman's number at he marina, our soon to be good friend Nyo who Rita may or may not have bought lobster from the year before. We had missed low tide but a woman assumed to be his wife advised he was still out digging and we might be able to catch him if we tried. She provided his number and the name of the street on which to turn right on two orange sticky post its, with a little patience we finally found out way. The water was hip deep by the time we arrived but we trolled nonetheless, shovels in hand. There were a few clam diggers still out and by now Rita had tracked down Nyo who showed us the ropes, or at least told us about them. Were the water not obscuring our view we would have looked for the telltale holes, stuck a shovel in, shaken the sand off, moved to the next. When the water settles, you rapidly collect. Our method was more along the lines of digging blindly and still, ridiculously, managing to procure ample clam families. His setup and efficiency humbled ours. But he was friendly enough to scatter his own haul and let us scramble for it, feeling like we'd done a lot in a very short time. His and his buddy's proper floating wood framed baskets were filled to the brim with a bounty we'd soon purchase two bonus pecks from. All told, two overflowing buckets, one surreal morning activity in Canada, bags and bags of frozen clams, and one steaming plateful shared with friends old and new. This really is the life.

 

glass half full

It wasn't my intention to abandon the internet for all of these days that I just did. The sun came out, the would-be last glimpses of summer took over, I found myself enjoying the splendor of actual and undocumented life as it unfolded, one day at a time.

Simple pleasures: a concept I am no stranger to. Seaside ice cream, swimming four times a day, my father turning 67. Kayaking, biking, beach fires, backyard fires. Freezie pops, french fries, fried green tomatoes, homemade almond butter. Local blueberries, local beers, family gatherings, potlucks, and squeaky cheese.

This entire summer has been filled with moments like this. This past week I really let myself submit. But...now what?

Drifting through these days, I have been thinking a lot about what led me here and obviously where this vision quest of mine is ultimately going to take me. Is a work/life balance truly possible? Looking back I can reflect on the ways that the implied futility of New York can feel so heavy; defeat so often the given, not the exception to the rule. Even when you are, by all accounts, "successful", it can drain you completely. These past days in semi-rural Canada, surrounded by family and new friends, have, among other things, reminded me that one can simply DO and BE and it can often work out just fine. What if it were all just...possible? Just because stress is ingrained in me it doesn't mean that it's actually really real or necessary. Just because I have previously, for at least fourteen years, associated work and much of what I have done professionally with anxiety and inadequacy, it doesn't mean it's always going to be this way. This feeling of overachieving coming at the consequence of selling your soul and killing yourself in the process could have been just a product of my surrounding and imagination, not the definitive result for whatever I choose to do or be.

So, now what? All I can say right now is that I'm working on it. And gratefully taking it one day at a time.

 

waking up

I woke up in Canada for the third time since landing here days ago.

After London, after the ultimate friend reunite, after celebrating a wedding, after wondering if London was more charming than I ever gave it credit for, after drinking cider, after dropping my iPhone into a toilet I didn't even use, after taking a deep breath and feeling like my vision quest was over, after the confusion of saying goodbye to people I had only just said hello to, after getting on a plane and embarking on a semi circuitous route as part of a ultimately fourteen hour plus travel day, after finally landing somewhere ....familiar.

Enter the deep, dark jet lag. Or is it more life lag all over again? I realized I haven't really stopped with a forever go go go since that final beautiful beach day weeks and weeks ago. Time change, life change, exhaustion.

This morning I am waking up again, but just barely. Another nine plus hour sleep after a day that included a two hour nap. Still feeling wonky eyed; nearing full energy but not even close. This is the third day of gloomy skies, a reality I have never known here in this maritime utopia. There's a certain relief in the weather dictating a lack of pressure to get outside and be productive or, at the very least, leisurely. Laziest me is just waiting for the sunshine to give me the jolt I think I need in order to reacclimate to this time zone, to routines, to inch closer to real life. Wondering all the while if this is another cosmic life lesson forcing me to overcome the would-be givens in order to arrive stronger on the other side.

In the meantime, patience. And another cup of coffee.