Space to breathe and imagine
The wonderful, sometimes unexpected sparks of creativity found when we're alone
Lake Michigan, a few years ago
I remember the icicles dangling like jewelry from the bare arms of shrubs and stiff blades of tall beach grass, the hardened sand so solid beneath my rubber boots as I walked the shoreline and stepped carefully between the frozen, slippery rocks. It was an overcast day, making the relatively calm aquamarine water stretched out beneath the low-lying clouds all the more surprising and magnificent. It was as if Lake Michigan had other plans on this dreary day. Look at me. I don’t need the sun rays to show off this particular hue of blue.
I was used to seeing this vibrant lake color in the heat of summer, not in February. I nearly gasped upon seeing the lapping turquoise waves, stark against the gray sky and the snow-swirled sand, after I parked my car and ventured to the quiet beach about 45 minutes from my house. I had the swath of shoreline to myself, which wasn’t a complete surprise. This was years before the pandemic, when more people began exploring parks and natural areas like this one. It was also before this spot and its surrounding trails and bluffs received an ever-increasing number of shout-outs on social media and was ranked as a “most beautiful place” in national travel and news publications.
I wouldn’t have minded seeing another soul or two wandering the frozen terrain as I’d decided to do that day at least a decade ago. But it was a welcomed respite, being all alone in a place that never fails to bring me back to center. I don’t remember the specifics of why I wanted to get away for a few hours toward the end of a long week, but I do recall the exhilaration I experienced coming up with a plan to just go and to just be by myself. Nothing horrible was happening in my life; it wasn’t that I needed to escape something. I wasn’t so much running away as I was running toward. A day—one day—to breathe deep and exhale. To shake off a funk I was feeling.
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