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8 june 2022 dear friends & readers, for those who don’t know, i’m writing from monhegan. it’s where you’ll (mostly) find me until the early fall. from the pictures i post i know it appears as if i’ve left the real world behind, to arrive and be held by the simplicity of a life only imaginable ten miles out to sea. and in many ways i have because what could be better than to leave your car inshore for the season, to walk anywhere and everywhere as well as nowhere at all? until there comes the night when you run out of propane and the person responsible for switching the tanks is on the mainland, which means (among other things) you won’t be able to make coffee in the morning… my point being life on island is still life, one that involves rigor and planning, sacrifice and choices all its own. but it’s worth the effort, because it is only out to sea that i find the clarity to see myself all the more. monhegan is not my vacation; it’s my vocation. no matter how long i’m going to be on monhegan, there always comes a moment of uncertainty just before the crossing. when the boat slips away from the dock leaving one shore, to embark and experience another. that’s when the chatter begins: did i pack the right things, do i have enough, do i have what i need? the answer is always yes and no. but sometimes we have to cross before we are ready, at least i do. i’m feeling that especially this year when my life inshore is so full of blessings, some many years in the making that i never imagined could possibly be. it’s a life in many ways i’m not ready to leave behind, so i’ll bring with me as much as is feasible, like my dogs, and i’m grateful to those who love me and monhegan as much as i do, and who choose to be here as much as they can. i’m trusting everything will be waiting for me in all the more fullness when i return, although i wouldn’t mind if there were a fewer TVs in the living room…but i digress. sometimes a poem falls into your outstretched hands to become the words that captures your uncertainty with clarity, to become your summer song: Tertön (for Yangzom) by Sarah Ruhl There is a poem for you hiding in the cleft of a rock. Water laps about its edges. Written by no one, written just for you. Its rhyme scheme is unimportant. Its handwriting is weird. It meets you where you live. If you don’t find it no one else will. So walk down to the water, and put your hand in.
this is why i come to monhegan… to let go of the outcome, to trust that in the being on island I have already arrived, and the healing begins in not assuming the answers, but in asking beautiful questions. this is my life on island. at least for this summer. it’s where you’ll find me wearing many hats: managing rental properties, cleaning cottages, teaching yoga, and some days (like today) i might even be the substitute librarian from 1-5pm. but mostly I’ll be writing, beginning with #1000wordsofsummer and preparing for retreat, because life is part inspiration, part practice and on island i allow myself to do both. so if you find yourself midcoast for a day trip or wish to experience monhegan for yourself as your everlasting meal (there’s one room left),
i’ll meet you at the boat xosew
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