When I was a young boy, my family discovered this pier on one of our many trips to the beach.  We went back to it several times and it became, for me, a vehicle of escape — physically (though only slightly) from the continent, but more so emotionally from the cares of the world.

 

There is something hypnotic about walking on the wooden boards, into a temperate, moist, and salty on-shore breeze.  The drug’s effect grows stronger as I walk above the breakers, alongside surfers, and past other fisherman.  There are several wooden benches along the way, seldom sat-in (thanks to the obsessive white-washing performed by the brazen seagulls).  Sitting or just standing still brings about the drug’s full potency and envelopes me.  In this cocoon, items such as a wristwatch, wallet, planner, and laptop computer are of no importance; gone are the worries of time, money, meetings, and information.  It is as if the left brain goes to sleep and the right brain awakens from the stimuli of sights, sounds, and smells to a glorious re-realization that when all the shrouds of these worldly cares are stripped away, the canvas of life is indeed beautiful, and worth savoring.

 

 

Within a short radius of this spot are the homes where my parents and sisters live.  The streets and buildings of their neighborhoods change, but this spot remains nearly constant — an enclave amidst an ocean of putative progress.