"A nomad I will remain for life, in love with distant and uncharted places." -Isabelle Eberhardt
"A nomad I will remain for life, in love with distant and uncharted places." -Isabelle Eberhardt
August 5th hits and I start to count all the ways I’ve “wasted” my summer.
1. I haven’t made it to yoga every day nor have I walked at least 2 miles per day
2. I haven’t written every day
3. I haven’t gone kayaking every day
4. I haven’t done a single painting, despite setting a goal for a 100-day project
5. I bought all the supplies to learn how to make tofu and haven’t even opened the boxes
Then I realize I am being silly, and I haven’t wasted anything. Instead of hitting goals, I’ve reconnected with old friends, made new ones, deepened connections. I spent three weeks in Spain and Morocco. I’ve spent actual quality time with my family and The Tiny Dictator. I’ve gone out visiting and had a handful of folks from Denver come share my tiny camper for the weekend.
I’ve spent time in antique malls, vintage boutiques, and flea markets. I’ve bought some weird shit and already had to take one carload of books, portrait paintings and even a framed taxidermy bat back to Bismarck. Next time I go I’ll take the busted-up, goldish bird cage I grabbed for eight bucks at the flea market.
I didn’t write as much as I’d have liked but I wrote what might be one of my favorite poems.
I lived through a tick latching onto my knee and then being ripped out by tweezers.
Some of my best days are the ones where I don’t leave the campground:
-I take the dogs for a spin around the loop, maybe Hazel and I hit the frontage road and take the path along the wildflowers.
-I listen to Margaret Atwood on The Ezra Klein Show podcast while I clean up years of Google photos albums.
-I read a chapter of belonging: a culture of place by bell hooks, connecting with passages such as:
“My visits home almost always left me torn: I wanted to stay but I needed to leave, to be endlessly running away from home.” And, “All the years I returned home to visit I sought sanctity in my parents’ house and rarely ventured out. Now and then I ventured out to the porch or walked in the backyard. But I did not take to the hills.”
-I read a few poems from Maggie Smith’s poetry collection Goldenrod and then another chapter of belonging before taking a break to read a Mary Oliver poem from Devotions.
-Maybe I apply for a few remote jobs, maybe I don’t.
-Maybe I wander down to Roxy’s camper a time or two, see if she’s doing anything of interest or if she has better snacks.
-Maybe I take a vermouth with an orange slice and olives down to the dock and stare at the water for an hour, maybe I don’t. Maybe I see the turtle stick its nose out or see the muskrat swim by. Hopefully, I hear the loons as they fly overhead.
-Maybe I watch Hulu for an hour or call a friend.
-I definitely gaze at the sunset out my back window. Or maybe from the deck while I keep an eye out for the pair of hummingbirds that sometimes flit around.
I’ve a month left of this wasted summer. I hope to continue properly squandering my time here. Maybe even make a painting or two. But if not, the hummingbirds will stop by to let me know it’s going to be just fine.
