A World Away: Inspiration and Perspective.

So right now I am far away from Massachusetts: one state up, to be precise. Because we are broke, and because we do not want to add to our credit card debt, Jeff and I haven't gone on a vacation together in over five years. But, we have taken a few 2-day escapes. Right now, we're in Portsmouth, NH, which is only about two and a half hours from home. This week's get away was very much needed.

And it has cleared my head a little bit.

I don't know why I don't break from routine more than I do. I think when you become an adult, and get a job, and settle into a certain kind of life, it's easy to get boring and dull. But this is not so good, especially when you like to write, because you start to think life is kind of sad and every-day. And great writing is not sad and every-day, even if it is about sad and every-day kinds of things, because art is all about perspective.

So it is not so much that one must get (far) away in order to create. One must gain new perspective to create.

I wonder if I could gain perspective simply by doing the "writerly" thing and going out to get coffee for a couple hours every day, rather than stay home, just to surround myself with people who I don't know. It's pretty easy for me to isolate myself from others. Some people find this surprising because I like people. I am very talkative. I like people/animals, etc., around me at home. I am loud.

But at the same time, I like solitude, and won't hesitate to yell "No!" in the face of one of my cats for trying his hardest to sneak his entire 17 pound body under my typing hands while I am on the computer. (In my defense, I am usually very patient and only gently nudge him aside the first six times or so). I also will put on headphones, which is apparently one of the most isolating things you can do. I don't like to call people on the phone, even though I do like to talk to them.

When I am at home, I am at home, and I don't venture out. It's been especially bad lately: there isn't a dog that needs to go out anymore, and I find that not even getting that couple minutes of fresh air a few times a day affects me. (And, also strange, those few minutes of being outdoors with an appreciative dog who loved to be outdoors had a nice effect on me; Bella sniffed almost any item she came across with wagging tail and gusto. Animals truly live in the moment).

I can't help but think this hermit-like existence is a killer of creativity, and perhaps also of happiness. When I get all wrapped up in my own problems and unhappiness and thoughts, I tend not to be able to get anything accomplished, let alone writing (hence, my lack of blog posts the last few days).

(But then again, there is Emily Dickinson...)

At any rate, while this trip was planned way in advance of what has happened this week, it's almost providential in timeliness. Jeff and I walked along the ocean for a few minutes. It was snowing these tiny little snowflakes that stuck in small white dots on my collar and shoulders, and it was beautiful. The air was crisp, and the sky was gray. It was getting dark outside, and there weren't a lot of people out and about. We stood on the end of a dock and looked out across the shipyard and watched seagulls and boats and buoys. And perhaps for the first time this week, I could appreciate the moment for what it was and just enjoy living in the present: standing on a dock near the ocean in New England with my favorite person. Not doing anything, really. Not thinking about anything. Just walking and being and looking and talking.

I am thankful for that.