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Sometimes we are starving and we don’t even know it.


Sometimes there is a hunger deep down that manifests itself as a cold or irritability or as a general malaise. It can manifest as the desire to eat a whole pizza or drink too much bourbon.


It can show up in road rage or the unreal desire to face down the last person who broke your heart while swinging a sword, samurai style, and shouting “How dare you?”.

I discovered, this weekend, that that hunger in me was a need to sit and do nothing but stare at nature.


A weekend at a friend’s house with a reading nook looking out onto the ocean cured my starving soul. From morning, to afternoon, to sunset I sat and watched the grasses move.

The reading nook.

I witnessed the pelicans fly by in solemn brown groups of four, five and eight. Sometimes they were so close I could see their feathers ruffle in the updraft.

The giant eucalyptus tree at the end of the yard stood stark at noon and glowed in the late day light.


A stiff breeze made it’s fragrant leaves whisper and soothe that deep, down hunger for nature that I have sorely neglected as of late.

From the outside looking in.

I read a lot in the reading nook, but mostly I just stared out at the ocean and let it sink in like the balm that it can be, the food for the soul that it offers just by being there; blue and unabashedly big.

Inside looking out.

My cold-like symptoms disappeared, my samurai fantasies melted into peaceful understanding. All became right with the world once more.

Night in the nook.

I was reminded of my great fortune – the fortune of family and friends – connections that offer the opportunity for respite and renewal in an oceanside cottage; all of it possible and made better by the blithe spirit that came into the world twenty-two years ago.

A treasure of a person that changed my singular world for the better and continues to change the world as a whole.

And yet another morning of seaside splendor.

Thank you.