Over the course of my life I’ve lived in a few different parts of the country, and in these parts of the country I’ve found several places that have become “mine.” No, I didn’t purchase any land or adopt a highway or what have you. I just mean that there are places that start to feel alive in and of themselves after you’ve visited them a few times – equipped with their own personalities and voices.
Certain places speak more than others. Some have older souls than others. Sometimes it feels like you’re discovering somewhere that no one’s ever been before, and sometimes though it is more than obvious that several hundred thousand people or more have traversed these very grounds before you, you still feel new in your own two feet (even if you’re not on the ground upon which you tread). All of these places have stories to tell – some stories were written by the people who found them, some stories were written by the history of the land itself, and some came to be as time kept and keeps moving forward.
And then there are the places that breathe and bend, dance and break, seek and sleep, and live filled by an ancient vitality that saturates the air and seeps in from the sea. These are the winds that whisper more than ambiguities in the whistling wind, their words are clear and direct without need for interpretation.The land is hard and rocky, tough and relentless – large, layered and smooth, crawling from the sea, prehistoric giants lunge and fall and stay. Halted. Unable to go any further. Piles of broken rock and boulders overlook the shore, they guard the ends of the earth. The land here does not belong to man, it belongs to the earth – you are a guest here, a visitor, and a student.
Only a few hundred yards away from this epic natural wonder lies a giant limestone quarry which is visually breath taking but absolutely lacks the soul of the shore and the sea.
Adorned in pristine geometry and brilliant saturated hues of every color of in spectrum, it looks like a scene from a storybook – somewhere you would only expect to find in a dream or a fairy tale. It is surrounded by woods, completely hidden from the world, wide open to it at the same time.
Funny how looking at the same ocean from the same spot fifteen years later fills you with a panic instead of excitement…
Halibut Point in Rockport, MA – the air here is restless, and by that I am settled. The first time I came here, I was 19 years old and had just finished up my first year at Berklee. I remember climbing on top of the same rocks, I remember walking around the same quarry, I remember staring out into the sea from the same spot on the rocky shore – noticing for the first time how much more vast and enigmatic the ocean seemed from a point versus a long beach – and I remember feeling like there were endless opportunities and possibilities waiting for me, I had my entire life ahead of me and I was going to make something incredible out of myself. Funny how looking at the same ocean from the same spot fifteen years later fills you with a panic instead of excitement – you can’t help but think how many opportunities you’ve wasted, and how many possibilities died over the last decade and a half, and while you have an awesome family and husband, you still have no fucking clue what you want to do with your life… not so inspiring at 35. But there’s definitely something settling about that chaos – if I can feel something I felt fifteen years ago, why can’t I feel it again in another fifteen years?
I guess there are still a few unexplored possibilities out there. We’ll reconvene by the sea on the rocky shore of Halibut Point in another fifteen years.