Blogger | Freelance Editor | Property Manager
Twice a day the tide in Bar Harbor, Maine parts to reveal a quaint path that leads to a sandbar. The locals call this mysterious strip of land Bar Island. The tide is reliable, like rain in Seattle, and doesn’t stay parted for too long. The locals will be sure to mention this casually by whipping out their phones and showing images of tourist’s cars submerged in the cold, salty seawater.
Meltdown in an Exxon
Once on a Tuesday evening I went to a gas station to fill up my car's tank, get some beer to go with the frozen pizza I was planning to eat for dinner, and see if they had any of the brands of protein shakes I like – they didn’t. The sun had just slipped behind the large, sky-scrapper-like buildings and there was only a little bit of light lingering in the sky as I made my way across the parking lot to the bright florescent entrance of the Exxon.
Marlow's Lotta Fun
My family has been devout lake-goers ever since my great grandparents bought a lot on Watts Bar lake over fifty years ago. Five generations of aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents assemble at the lot to bask in the sunshine, compete in various activities, relax around a campfire, and gorge on any food we can fry.
Getting into a Flow State
Humans are meant to create. We do it without even realizing. When we cook something, when we choose an outfit to showcase our style, when we organize a shelf - we are creating. This sort of creating is different from making music, painting, or writing. It’s more subconscious, but still nonetheless, we’re all innately creative beings from a young age. The world dulls our creativity as we grow up because we learn to become domesticated in our day to day functions. Getting into a flow state is tapping into the subconscious, reuniting with the creative liberty we possessed as children.
Here I Am
There’s a dazzling cardinal living in my backyard. It’s bright red feathers streak through the trees as it meanders between branches and occasionally lands on my fence. It sings a beautiful melody and the other birds echo back. I wonder what they’re saying, what the chirps of their language mean and what they’re constantly chitchatting about. As a multitude of expressions fly out of their beaks, I don’t doubt it’s important, even necessary for their neighbors to hear. Or maybe, birds are just big gossipers, communicating what they see below, always searching for predators or potential food sources.