My friend Christina is, like me, an artist -- struggling, striving, successful, wishful, worried, wondering -- and we finally got together for our catch-up date. Normally, we meet for coffee -- but doesn't everyone? So I had the brilliant idea of going for a walk at a beach. Anyone who lives inside their heads like we do -- as writers, she of songs and melodies, me of essays and sermons -- that I knew fresh air and the shore and the motion of our limbs were what we needed.
And I was right so now we both wish we'd done this sooner. Our hearts know what our heads ignore.
Because Christina is dog-sitting for friends, I left my dog at home. I wanted to actually enjoy my walk and be able to talk to Christina which would be impossible with Abby rick-rolling Buster in the wet sand.
Also, I wanted Buster to still be alive and Christina to still be my friend at the end of the walk.
I think I'll go back tomorrow, just Abby and me. The beach we chose is not very big but there is no one there -- the cottages have that blank look they get once they are closed up for the season -- so I can be alone with my struggles and striving, my worries and wonderings, knowing they are shared, knowing they are real and normal and part of the process, as Abby chases the seagulls and wishes she had a friend named Buster to play with.
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