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21 july 2022 dear friends & readers, happy summer to all! i hope you’re finding ways to stay cool and enjoy the season. even from the middle of the ocean, i am aware of the haze of heat hugging the distant horizon, and it’s beginning to creep its way here… when i arrived on monhegan in june, i envisioned myself writing long, breezy weekly newsletters detailing all the comings and goings of my time, yet for so many reasons, that has not turned out to be. instead, i've been enjoying the immediacy of "writing" snippets on my IG stories and allowing myself to play. because isn't that what summer is all about? the stories have become a journal (of sorts) to process and jot, to not fret about making something overly precious, and make my effort more effortless in knowing the work will disappear. perhaps i will string the stories into a highlight, perhaps not. i'm trying not to overthink how things appear to others, instead allowing the experience to be its own form of making with text and image, to be my summer song that's usually what happens when i spend extended time on island, my days become more of a moving meditation of noticing how and what i approach in the day-to-day. i pay attention to when the sun rises and when it sets. i pay attention to the tug and tease of the tide, exposing treasures all its own. time told by the name of a boat and the sound of a distant horn. arrival | departure slowly, I begin to embody and be with the rhythms on island: when to put my laundry out on the line, or what day is ben and jerry's ice cream restocked at the store? (it’s tuesday and yes, it matters) i allow my life to fold and unfold along the road rather than rushing from here to there it becomes about being present for the fullness of the time in between, similar to sustaining the pause between my inhale and exhale. it's about noticing what i take in before i simply take on more. and more. when the rest of the world feels like a train wreck, and one i have absolutely no control over, being on monhegan allows me to turn away and pay attention to what is mine to tend which is currently: to care for brackett rentals. to collect and curate unspoken. to prepare for my fall retreat, and transition gathering (in grace) notes into a monthly yoga & writing workshop in person at tru (details coming soon) because to be in the pause has purpose and silence sings its own song on wednesday, my sweetheart came back. we're readying for a few weeks off island | in shore hopefully, i can sustain my monhegan melody during the time away of course the departure has its own checklist: preparing my house for renters. calling andy at the boat line to put air in my tires, then a 550 mile drive home to mammograms, and car inspections, and teaching. spending time with my kids whether they like it or not. mostly, i’ll be doing the things i can't do here that equally make my life so complete. and then i’ll be back on island i don’t completely know what’s coming next in either space but i'm nourished by the process, i’m excited by the possibilities and always the practice of play, like my IG stories… it's the same with how i approach cooking, mostly without recipes and measuring spoons, instead as something i know more by taste and feel, working with what's in season and on hand to become my everlasting meal. what is your summer song and in these times of uncertainty, where do you find nourishment? what will be your everlasting meal? there is still one room left on retreat if you want to join me in this fall on island… . .. looking forward to seeing you somewhere soon & thanks for reading xosew
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