Writing Retreat

“Travel far enough, you meet yourself. “
‍ ‍~ David Mitchell

As I get older, I am consistently reminded that I can not possibly predict the joy and excitement I feel during almost any new experience. Seriously, the surprise of what I find—and what I find out about myself—when I am exploring something or someplace new is not only exhilarating, but also life-affirming. Maybe that’s why I love to travel so much and why I so often seek out new places and adventures.

For many years, my mid-winter break in February has been a time to do just that.
I love to take advantage of low airfares and small crowds and explore places that people often travel to during the summer months. Amsterdam, Portugal, Guatemala, Ireland, Morocco, Barcelona, Paris and Cartagena are just a few of the incredible places I’ve been lucky enough to travel to in the dead of a New York winter. And, while the weather in these places hasn’t always cooperated, I can honestly say that I have never come away from a single one of these trips feeling anything but happy and excited—and, honestly, satisfied in a way that far exceeded my expectations.

I guess that’s why I was so disappointed when I realized that an adventurous trip to another country was not in the cards for me in February of 2026. My plan B arrived early the morning of January 1st when I pulled up a map and figured out where I could drive in a single day and see something I had never seen before. My plan was to rent an Airbnb somewhere beautiful and spend a whole week working on my writing.

It turns out the Outer Banks of North Carolina is one long day’s drive from my home in New York City and that at this time of year, I could rent a sweet little house right on the beach for a fraction of what it would cost during the season. And—I had never been there before.

So, off I went, hoping that the drive wouldn’t be too much, that the house would be cute and comfortable, that the weather would be decent and that I would actually be able to do what I aimed to do—unplug from my busy life and write.

Happy to report that all the things I had hoped for came to pass—and more to the point of this little post, a few incredible things I didn’t predict happened. At the risk of sounding dramatic, I will just say that the situation invited me to walk into my own solitude in a way that I had never really done before. I woke up each morning, thrilled to be alone in this beautiful place where I could hear the sound of the waves crashing while I was reading and listen to the sound of my own voice, as I was writing. I actively steered clear of distractions and found great peace and inspiration in the shifting tides and the changing sky—and in my own company.

Also, I wrote a few poems…

170 Syllables

Today you are rage
Crash, tumble and angry roar
Gray water churning

Torrid and greedy
Pounding with your suck and snarl
Your fierce hungry mouth

All fury and flow
Melting into a broad sky
Vast and violent

You have travelled miles
To break here on this soft beach
Your echo and froth

Seething, a blood tide
As you bite into the shore 
Your thump and loud moan

And unrepentant 
Power that seems to eclipse
Every   other   thing

The ebb leaves treasures
Small wet bubbles in the sand
And the bones of things

A perfect star, a
Sigh, a release, the long slow
Exhale of your breath

Rush to me, calls the
Wind, her billow and puff whisper
Over the loud roar

But today, for now
I am inside my warm dream
Of words, looking out

Wrapped in Gold and Flowers

I am an unserious woman, curating serious things
Sculpting a flash of horns
And mixing swirls of blue with a bright moon
Time melts in the heat of my life

Unencumbered, I doodle
New York as I see it
Soft bubbles in yellow and pink
Light splashing on cold brick walls

Always, al dente
Like an untethered kiss or
An enchanting swim in a tropical tank
Paint me with your eyes closed

Bathed in warm light
Crawling through the grass in the shadow of my home
Blooming hues from the inside out
The shape of color stamped on my face

Blue is a strum of sad music and
The farm boys are rendering flowers
See me standing, hold my hand
I am a collage of words for hungry readers

Waiting for you, my improbable love
Wrapped in gold and flowers
Singing the easy silence of sisters
Muting the panic of in-between.

Fragments

I
Day is breaking, waves are crashing
The smash and shatter of
A thousand shards of shiny blue
Scattering on the beach

And a loud thump and boom

The sky may be falling, but it won’t break
I remind myself
The world tips on its side 
But is steeply inclined 
Toward ebb and flow
And being whole

II
crashing, smashing, scattering
shards of shiny blue
the world tipping on its side
and then restored
to ebb and flow
and being whole

III
the world tipping on its side
waves crashing, smashing, scattering
shards of shiny blue

IV
the sky may be falling
but it won’t break

V
ebb and flow and being whole

Losing You

We lost you
Long before you left

I remember the day
Your blue eyes closed forever 
Although I didn’t know it at the time

They would never again look up
At the stars, or see me
As they had always done
So perfectly

And in the days of in-between
I held your hand 
And memorized your gray little face
Now consumed by a gaping mouth,
That looked like yours

But without the
Song or silly laugh
Or saying of my name
Only the scratchy sound of 
Your lingering breath
Your body’s parting glance

That is when I understood
There are many losses 
Worse than death
And if anything in my life
Reminds me to believe,
It’s that you were spared
Any more of those.