home sweet second home

I've noticed during our Mattapoisett visits that I've fallen into a subtle routine. It's definitely in the beginning stages and not concrete like that of my weekdays, but it is emerging. I keep Nils's hours instead of my own, and he, in the excitement of working on the house and his wooden boat, wakes early and falls asleep around 10. Therefore, I wake up naturally without an alarm much later than he, usually with Sage at my feet and the sounds of the radio and heater humming from the boat shed. I heat water for tea. Let Sage out to roam the grounds. Then, I stand in front of the 2nd floor windows, letting my gaze poke past trees and gnarly grapevines, glide over the rooftop of our neighbor, and settle upon the glistening ocean. As glittering water is my absolute favorite sight, a natural calm sets in each time I wake to this view.

The most important part: while I enjoy a cup of tea, I write! No force necessary. The quiet calm and bird songs aflutter in the background somehow coax words to the surface of my mind, and I actually have the patience and peace of mind to listen, interpret and write. Sometimes a few scenarios play out and I can't keep up with them. Other times, it's simply about this new environment. The city once spoke to me too. When I first moved to Boston, I wrote poetry very often, that being my medium at the time. The subway, passersby, streets, everything, served as inspiration. But, now, it's as if this same commotion and noise suppresses my creativity. When I find myself by the sea, however, there is a quiet present that is so quiet that all you can do is listen to yourself.

Starting a day with this calm is so foreign to me. Weekday mornings are rushed. Tea is made but sipped at work. Sage is let out, but quickly retrieved for lack of time. Nils is sleeping and barely wakes for a goodbye. And, then I spend the remainder of the day doing things for others and never for myself. Yes, I know this is reality. I'm fine with that. But, what I now know is how others have found peace in their homes enough to allow the rest of their selfless days play out without regret or the superb annoyance that I most often encounter because I'm denying myself the creative time I crave each day.

I'm trying not to romanticize this notion since I don't want to lose the ultimate feeling I gained last weekend when I began writing this post. I suppose I never thought that I'd want to live in a calming environment, that I wouldn't be able to cope without the noise, energy and accessibility of the city. But, now as I've spent so many years not fulfilling my writerly needs, I am impassioned by it now being on the forefront. In this age, we so often put aside what is intrinsically at our core, because we can't succeed to others' standards or can't make money doing it. Perhaps this will always be the case for me. But, for now, I now know I've found a spot for my Muse's voice to be heard. It's a start.

Great writers of the past found this solitude in the forest and nature. I'm finding it by the sea.