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The House Words Will Build

This is an exercise in visualization. They, of the almighty and anonymous wisdom of the universe, say to get what you want, you have to really be able to see it manifest in your life. They say that you have to believe with every ounce everything that makes you who you are that it is not only possible, but that it will happen. So let us attempt to bring forth a miracle of sheer will, shall we?

This is not my first vacation at the beach wherein I spend a week languishing on the coast and doing little more than cooking, reading, writing and shutterbugging, but with each year I do it, the more the desire pulls at me to make it a lifestyle and not just a vacation. I am at peace at the seaside. It seems like such a small phrase for the feeling that being here evokes in me. Here, I am in a state of zen-like calm, of meditative stillness, something like the way that some people are at peace climbing mountains or painting or…oh, I don’t know….hang gliding. In my normal day to day, my world is surrounded by sound. Music plays constantly because I love to swim in it the way a child will play in a pool. If not music, then the tv chattering in the background for the comfort of the sound, but here…this past week and those that have come before in years past, the only sound dominating my world is the sigh of the waves as they overtake the shore. It is music. It is what keeps me company in the silences, and it is enough. With the waves in the background, music becomes an intrusion, a disruption. The tv becomes just distracting noise. I have tried to bring this feeling back home with me, and I have tried to exist in the quiet like I do here, but I generally lose the feeling within the first day or so. There is no place in my current home where I can sit and look idly out the window and just watch a ripple of water approach, grow a white frothy cap and fling itself upon the sand. In my current home, the sound of the water is distant, and only digitally reproduced. That’s not enough.

I want to be able to feel this peace and serenity all the time, or at least whenever I choose to tap into it. I want to live here, where my soul becomes quiet and calm, and things feel…right. This is where I belong. This is where I have always belonged; I’m just finally in a place to understand it.

The only way I can think of to make this happen is to build this beach house with words. I don’t mean a fictional place where I’ll retreat when life gets too real, though it may be just that for the time being. A “happy” place, if you will. A place of mental respite and by spending time there, strengthening the vision. But no, what I mean is this place will become a reality through my writing. Funded by words.

I am not naive enough to believe that I’m going to be one of those billionaire writers who can publish their to-do list and have it land on the New York Times bestseller list. I don’t have any expectation of wealth other than to make a little here or there and hopefully, make a comfortable living writing. But one of the things I’m going to strive for is this house.

I want a house on the beach. Not “beach accessible” but on the beach where I can sit in my kitchen, on my back porch or in my living room and watch the tide make its passionate entrance, or quiet retreat. I want nothing but a few weathered stairs to separate me from the sand where I can walk, meander, run, dig my toes in and let the surf beckon me to the the lip of the water then chase me away with playful tongues of foam. I want to be able to step outside my second-floor bedroom onto my balcony and look over the waves under a glittering canopy of stars while the wind blows through my hair and tugs at my clothes. I want to be able to sit at my computer in my office with the window open and listen to the chorus of seabirds and waves and let those sounds drive me deep into creative space.

My home will have a kitchen that I can move in, but won’t necessarily be large. I just need it to be a space where I can create magic and a dining room table in front of windows looking out on the surf. I want to be able to sit, drink my morning coffee and eat my meals while looking out over the whitecaps, and to be able to entertain the occasional guest and revel in the sounds of something so far beyond human scale that the awe we feel lets conversation die before it happens.

I want to be able to have a life where I spend my days reading, writing, cooking, playing on the beach, spending time with my thoughts and letting them develop into words, then sentences, then paragraphs, and fall in strings to form stories and novels, and I want them to stack up all around me, building this house around me. The house my words will build. I want to be somewhere on the east coast, and I’d love to stay in North Carolina, but I’m not all that picky. I just want my home perched on the sand, overlooking the sea. I want to go, to stay, to be finally HOME. That is the house that my words will build and I will live there happily ever after.

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