I had a sense that the holiday week would be a quiet one, with my life taken up by parties and rehearsals and cookouts and fireworks. Now I’m chagrined to find I took a holiday from writing that I didn’t really expect.
As I get older, I understand ever more the concept of recharging. A week of turning off makes me feel good now, in a way it never could during my days of frenetic insecure energy.
Sometimes it’s nice to listen, rather than talk. Sometimes I can’t take another second of trying to find deep meaning and sweeping narrative in my life and all I want is to watch colors in the night sky and enjoy a few potato chips in good company. So this week, of beaches teeming with laughing children, of patriotic cannon blasts and cacophonous parades, this week seemed like a very good time to be quiet.