I have hauled in three bluefish from off the coast of Massachusetts. I have sat nervously in a powerless airport terminal for three hours with no food, water, or restroom and luckily getting on what was probably the last plane to Boston (apparently) because my arms are a little longer than the guy next to me. I have gotten gum on my shirt from the seal belt in the airplane. I have spent 7 consecutive days at the beach. I have finished half of a heavy nonfiction book and started another which I am now about halfway through. I have tasted a donut so hot and delicious that I burned my fingers eating it but did not stop to put it down. I have eaten foie gras creme brulee and heard tale of a foie gras donut. I have chuckled at conservative white men in pink shorts. I have flown co-pilot in a 10-seat Cessna. I have cheered for a Little League team from Saugus, Mass. I have browned nicely. I have seen more stars in one night’s sky than in the last 7 years of living in large cities. I have not used a computer in over 9 days. I have consumed far less root beer floats than I would have liked. I have boogie boarded briefly.
Is this enough? At the time, it didn’t seem like enough.
(With apologies to David Foster Wallace)