Nothing enervates me more than to misplace something. It turns everything on its head. All the world's a hiding place. The other day, I was leaving a friend's house, and for the life of us, we could not find my underwear. We looked everywhere. It took twenty minutes, and we finally found it. But those twenty minutes were full of agony, not seeing what was right in front of us. My undies.
Today, I found a source of my blueness. The piece underneath I should be farther ahead and the looping cycle of the past. In addition to my impending birthday anniversary, I am also approaching a vacation, on Fire Island, facing the Ocean, not far from my second home of a year and a half. And on the eve of travelling out there, making arrangements, dusting off my unfinished 40-ride pass from 2005, packing dog food, planning the cab-train-train-van-ferry way, I found it, lost amongst the floatsam of my other junk. To be fair, the door was opened at lunch with a friend; he asked me about why I had not been out there this year, and the first thing that popped into my head rang so painfully true that I could not help but utter it to him. So I give him some of the credit.
Here's what I found. I wasn't complete with the place, with my relationship to it. The Pines. Yes, me who gets annoyed by the season-only travellers who only seem to be out there to go to the Pavilion, in the dead of night, and miss every pleasure of sunrise, morning, noon, mid-afternoon, and evening. Me who denied being a Fire Island Queen until someone pointed out that I spend about 40 straight weekends out there one year. I am incomplete with Fire Island. It makes me laugh to put it that way, but that's what's so. And I have no shame.
In Manhattan, when I moved out of one home, I simply created another. Remember when I said it was mostly upside? I loved my previous home, but I adore my simple new home. Yet I simply forgot to do the same with Fire Island, telling myself I'll take a pass until 2007. The reality is that I always wanted to create a second home out there, even if it's for the season, even if it's only for a few days, and I neglected to do this. So I'm doing it, tomorrow through Thursday. The last piece of the puzzle. Just typing it puts me into a state of bliss, like it's already happened. Like when someone proposes marriage to you, and you accept. You're already married, even though the wedding hasn't happened yet. I am already complete. I am going to go burn some vanilla candles now, while I brew some organic herbal tea.
Also, I need to say hello to the ocean. My last day out there, mid-august, I said goodbye, until next year, and I feel like I've missed my old, old friend. More about that this week.