People say you cannot move away from your problems, that they will follow you wherever you go. But I believe we can move to a place our problems are put in perspective, where the stresses and pains fade to mere dots on the broad horizon, disappearing with the day's sun, and acquiring the temporal quality of the memory of an event you are not sure you experienced or just have heard so much about you feel as if you have.
Scituate is a place that did that for me. When I moved here, the rhythm of my thoughts found alignment. Life did not seem the discordant, headache-inducing score it had been for me in the past. Quite simply, I discovered harmony. My friends and relatives expressed concern I would be removed, remote from the action. While at first I assured them the commuter rail could provide a quick, easy way for me to get in the city, I soon found fault with my own logic.
I was walking on the spit during low tide, finding beauty in the sand ridges left by the ocean's currents. The sky was turning a muted, fluorescent orange color that looks unbelievably stunning in nature and cheap to me in a highlighter, spray paint, or crayon. I realized that on this piece of land I am more at the center of things than I ever have been. Here, I witness the tide receding and returning. I see the moon wane to a sliver. I watch the cranberries float and the weather touch the coastline with waves and winds, sometimes gentle and, at times, harshly. The land is shaped before my eyes.

Perhaps what I refer to is natural beauty or the healing power of the ocean. It's a cadence of living one can try to describe, one can try to capture on film, but those expressions lack dimension. The aura of the place needs to be felt. I am just glad I found it.