Fans on. Windows shut. Screens dripping with humidity. Ocean invisible. It’s one of those classic Montauk foggy mornings — so soggy that the only way I can describe it is “floggy.”
A day to stay inside, a day to write, a day to shut the door to the room of my own, a day to re-connect to myself.
It’s been a wild ride since early May … and this writer needs to start writing again.
“So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say. ”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
I turned to Sarah and said, “I can’t believe I never walked around this lake before.”
The beautiful, iconic Lake Waban at Wellesley College, the lake that I peered at for hours perched on my favorite purple chair in the library, the lake that I had never rowed a boat on, taken a swim in, or shockingly, walked around.
The girl I was in the early ’80s, the oh-so-serious student, didn’t realize what she was missing. She was on a different journey — a journey where achievement and accomplishment seemed to be the most important things in life.
Thirty years later, I’m on another journey, with different priorities. A leisurely stroll around the lake with life-long friends. Conversations over coffee with no agenda. Deeply felt laughter remembering shared histories. A new willingness to admit mistakes and regrets, and know that I am understood.
To all the people I know who are in transition — from high school to college, from college to first job, from full time parenting to empty nest — blessings for the journey completed.
And blessings for the journey to come.