I'm in Provincetown, and the day is thick with fog. All my windows are open. I’m drinking coffee and listening to the waves push farther and farther in. High tide at 10:36 am. I’ve been here since the first day of the month, and I head home tomorrow on the last. There are so many things to love about being here, but one is feeling in constant touch with the outside. In the south, we’re often closed up in air conditioning, either at home or in a car. Here, no car. I walk everywhere. As Mary Oliver wrote, “Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.”
I am still working on the new novel. After nine months and 200 pages, last week I waved goodbye to the “ouija board” method and took control of the manuscript to start shaping the story. Usually, I begin my days by working on the novel. but today I began by writing to you.
I often find myself holding my breath—which can’t be good. My thoughts turn to George Floyd as I listen to James Nestor’s Breath
. Nestor's journey began when his doctor suggested a breathing class—to strengthen his lungs, calm his mind, and provide a new perspective.