I want to live alone in the desert
I want to be like Georgia O’Keefe
I want to live on the Upper East Side
And never go down in the street
- zevon

Symposiums are a time to learn and socialize. They are often a bit of a break from the real world as well. I often try to balance that out with somewhat mixed results. Often when I attend symposiums I take a bit of time to scope out my “thinking spot”. Some place where I can just stare out into a deep green wood, long sandy shores, or endless seas reaching out to the horizon without the hint of another human in existence. Each day or often more than once each day, I take off for that little place to recharge and refocus.

At the Qajaq Training Camp in Michigan I found myself going out to the coast and wandering south along the shoreline. Unlike the Wisconsin side of the lake, the Michigan side takes the brunt of the prevailing winds. Large sand dunes rise from the beaches as the surf roars away in a more ocean like character.

One afternoon as I wandered down the beach I was lost in a metaphor I could not quite grasp. The message was there in drift wood and waste. It was on the lost horizon where fishing boats paced to and fro like feeding sharks. In the tall grass that waved along the shore or gave way to the erosion of the sand. The message had something to do with existence. How on this seemingly desolate beach there were stories in the lost shoes, headless birds and cigarette butts. A message was there in the heavy haze that obscured the distant lighthouse I’d been told was out there somewhere. I sat in the sand and tried to bring it all into focus. But then sometimes there is no focus. The world just is, and it overwhelms you. In the end, you just get up and wipe the sand from your jeans and head back to camp. Someone asks what you’ve been up to. For a moment your mind reels through the scattered thoughts looking for a way to explain what you had just been feeling. In the end though you often just respond with, “Not much. How about you?”

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