“The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”
In the mornings, we went to the beach. Almost every day for a week, I swam and read and worked on my tan. Worked on my tan, there's something I hardly ever say. I have lived with a parent who loves nothing more than to bake in the sun, and I finally wanted to know what it felt like, what I would look like. It felt fine, I looked fine, but was it worth it? No. I'd rather not get skin cancer. By the time I got to Ireland, my tan had significantly faded. I'd rather not get dramatic wrinkles by the time I'm 35. Besides, what's the fun in a tan with no story? While I was in Dublin, Stevie and I spent time on a friend's barge. Stevie was all over the place, helping open all the locks as we traveled the canal. The sun was bright and by the end of the day, he had some color on the back of his neck and the sides of his arms. If someone were to ask him how he got, well, sunburnt, not tan — but it still works for the story — he could tell them about the days on the barge, and all the fun and the work and the peanut sauce (I made peanut sauce). If someone asked me, all I could say is "I was at the beach for 3 hours every day doing nothing." That's boring. A tan should have a good story.
“No, that is the great fallacy: the wisdom of old men. They do not grow wise. They grow careful.”
I had the afternoons to myself most days. I read Just Kids by Patti Smith in three days. It was the only book I brought so after that I did sudoku and listened to podcasts until I ran out of podcasts and had to find wifi in town to download more. I do love podcasts, but like TV shows, they keep my mind busy. Listening to something, paying attention. It's nice but not always healthy. These days, I'm trying to enjoy more silence. It's peaceful once I get over the fear of nothing. It was easy there. There was no wifi, which gave me a much needed break. It would be nice to have a summer house in Italy. Maybe one day, who knows. Wouldn't that be nice?