Lodestar

You would think that the distinct briny scent of the air would be the only compass I’d need to find my way to the shoreline.  Okay, not really, but I do love the ocean that much.  On a jaunt through Cape Ann in Massachusetts last weekend, it became evident that no matter how intense my desire to reach my destination, I really live for the journey itself. 

A friend and I set out on our adventure, a last minute trip hastily planned to get us out of town for the long holiday weekend and check out what Coastal Living magazine promised to be an ocean-side treat:  quaint fishing villages, lighthouses, artist communities, and amazing restaurants teeming with fresh lobster. We picked up our rental car at Boston Airport; the guy behind the counter thrilled to loan us a luxurious silver Lincoln with black leather seats, at no extra charge.  We nearly walked out leaving our GPS on the counter, maybe a bit of foreshadowing, I can't be sure.

My friend volunteered to drive, expertly programming in our endpoint, and we were on our way.  From the very start I found it impossible to blindly follow the pink line that Claire, also known as our GPS, laid out for us.  While this isn’t so much of a problem on trips where there’s nothing of interest to see along the way, I couldn’t help but think we were missing something spectacular defaulting to the expeditious mindset of Claire.  I’m sure I became annoying fairly quickly, certain I was much better equipped to plot out our route than efficient, but boring, Claire.  At our first stop in Gloucester harbor, we grabbed a “real” map at the brew pub where we enjoyed Fisherman’s Ale and the best fresh, deep fried halibut with coleslaw I think I’ve ever tasted.

By the time we were ready to venture out to Rockport, in hopes of catching a few lighthouses along the way, I had the map firmly planted in my lap, studying intently to chart the most scenic course possible. We meandered along the coast, taking in all the charm and character these seaside communities had to offer, until the gem of a village we had been moving toward appeared, picture-perfect, before our eyes. We clamored out of the car, snapping photographs like eager paparazzi stalking a closeted starlet, pausing only for a few moments to savor the infamous east coast lobster roll, a decadent delicacy consisting of the morning’s catch piled atop a hotdog bun, accessorized with nothing more than a piece of lettuce for color and a bag of Lay’s potato chips. Heaven.   

I found it interesting that I was immediately at peace once the map was in my hands.  To me, there is nothing quite like seeing the big picture, pouring over the atlas, absorbing the different options, charting the desired course and then watching it unfold in front of me.

Not surprisingly, I look for this same assurance on the road of life.  Never content, it seems, with where I am today, I’m always looking for what’s ahead.  The irony is that on both the literal and figurative road, there’s a need to make room for chance.  The best life, it seems, is equal parts planning and precipitousness.

It was telling, what happened when we weren’t so worried about the map anymore.  Maybe it was stomachs happily sated with impossibly fresh lobster.  Everything seemed to fall into place for us.  No sooner had we said we’d like to find a little market where we could pick up wine and some snacks for the evening, both a grocery and liquor store appeared around the bend.  In search of a lighthouse for two days, we pulled up to the bed and breakfast, and there were the historic Thatcher Island Twin Lighthouses, lit way back in 1789, visible from both the beach we visited and our lodging for the night.

As we sat on the patio enthralled by the waves of the ocean breaking on the rocks no more than fifty feet in front of us, a curtain of clouds opened up in the sky, revealing the waning Blue Moon two days past full, its spot light glimmering on the water below. We couldn’t have planned that if we tried.

There’s nothing wrong with being deliberate about where you want to go and how you’ll get there.  But sometimes you need to know when to just let the road take you.

Rockport Harbor, September 2012