It's places like this that set my heart adrift. I look at the diamonds of light reflected off the silvery water and wonder what it would be like.
What would it be like to live in a town of 900 people, where the pace moves at something resembling the torpid crawl of a tortoise in winter? What would it be like to know every single permanent resident and all their dirty laundry? What would it be like to ride a bike, barefoot, to the local grocer and discover that the milk delivery hadn't been made that day because the ferry-boat was fogged in and couldn't run.
Would I find it liberating or suffocating? I rail against the crowds and the traffic and the noise and the rapid tempo of our days, here. I mourn that I have only brief snippets of time to spend in meaningful discussion with the people who I love. Is moving to an island accessible only by ferry the solution to that, or just a case of the sea oats being greener on the other side of the dune?
Probably, I just need to take the lessons of small town, isolated islands back with me into my everyday life in the bustling real world.
- Slow down.
- Breathe deeply.
- Say hello to neighbors.
- Smile at the local cat.
- Sit outside for meals when the weather allows.
- Try a local brew.
- Learn to live without and to patiently wait.
- Spend some time watching birds fly by.
- Look for the light.
Love each other.