Sunday, June 27, 2004
Act One, Scene 2
Saturday morning felt like any day in Washington feels -- happy and calm.
The mornings are a little cold but it always warms up considerably.
I listened to "Stuck in America" to find I related to it much more in Houston than I ever could here. It would be impossible to feel stuck in such a freeing atmosphere. As free as a recreational camp could allow.
As I suspected, there is something truly different about the Pacific Northwest. It must be all the mountains and water that make what the people say about this region so true. Only you can't really tell if it's the weather or the people who do it. It's just that no one cares where you have been, or what you eat, or what you want to do with your life. It is a place for you to be you.
This may be easier and generalized because almost all the counselors here hopped fresh off a plane from someplace. And in that way we were all running from something, or at least, to something.
I like to sit on the top of a hill here, overlooking the dining hall roof. In a short distance there is water, and across that, houses and trees larger and greener than I have ever seen. One day I was sitting there with my headphones on, Ben Gibbard's voice singing sweet confessions to me, and when I took them off, I could hear a live reggae band covering Bob Marley from a party someone was having across the bay.
I do all the things here I used to do at the park by the Menil, only here, I can do them anywhere. Any bench, any patch of grass. My choice of bay views, cloud shapes, and at night, the constellations glow so brightly and dreamlike ...
At night I take long walks and listen to music. And think a lot. But when it's daylight I try not to make the most pressing matters matter at all, and I don't have to really try either.
Saturday morning felt like any day in Washington feels -- happy and calm.
The mornings are a little cold but it always warms up considerably.
I listened to "Stuck in America" to find I related to it much more in Houston than I ever could here. It would be impossible to feel stuck in such a freeing atmosphere. As free as a recreational camp could allow.
As I suspected, there is something truly different about the Pacific Northwest. It must be all the mountains and water that make what the people say about this region so true. Only you can't really tell if it's the weather or the people who do it. It's just that no one cares where you have been, or what you eat, or what you want to do with your life. It is a place for you to be you.
This may be easier and generalized because almost all the counselors here hopped fresh off a plane from someplace. And in that way we were all running from something, or at least, to something.
I like to sit on the top of a hill here, overlooking the dining hall roof. In a short distance there is water, and across that, houses and trees larger and greener than I have ever seen. One day I was sitting there with my headphones on, Ben Gibbard's voice singing sweet confessions to me, and when I took them off, I could hear a live reggae band covering Bob Marley from a party someone was having across the bay.
I do all the things here I used to do at the park by the Menil, only here, I can do them anywhere. Any bench, any patch of grass. My choice of bay views, cloud shapes, and at night, the constellations glow so brightly and dreamlike ...
At night I take long walks and listen to music. And think a lot. But when it's daylight I try not to make the most pressing matters matter at all, and I don't have to really try either.
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