Day Before Thanksgiving Day

       I love the island I’m on. Martha’s Vineyard, off the coast of Cape Cod. I love the little town around me. Edgartown, as quaint and picturesque as any place I’ve ever been. I love the hotel I’m in. The Harborview. I’ve spent over fifteen Thanksgivings here. I love my room. The one I’ve come to request and feel so at home in. Room four-twelve, tucked away on the top floor, decked out with Christmas lights, an aromatic candle that smells like a balsam fir, and a view of the ocean
        From my room to the chunk of earth I’m on to the very time and space that I inhabit, I am literally surrounded by what I love.
        And that’s causing me some anxiety.
        The kind of anxiety I’m talking about here is akin to the proverbial kid in a candy store. There is so much I want to do here. And I can’t do it all, nor will I have time to do enough of any of it. So I end up feeling overwhelmed by excitement, joy, and anticipation. All this good energy leaves me over-stimulated, like a little boy running around trying to play with every single toy in the store. I can pressure myself into wanting to experience it all, all at once, all of the time, and end up missing the moments as they pass me by while I’m whirling around in this over-zealous stupor.
        Sometimes I refer to myself as an “experience junkie” (making sure to leave off the “d” at the end of “experience”). Meaning that I want to have all these different experiences, spend plenty of time reveling in each one, and not have to choose which one’s I can’t do.
        Like the movie “Groundhog Day”, except I’m on Martha’s Vineyard, at The Harborview Hotel, the day before Thanksgiving. This movie could be called “Day Before Thanksgiving Day”. A pretty lame title, but you get the point. In it, I’m a character who loves where I am and when I am. I use each repeating day to do one thing I really love. That would be a slice of heaven. A month of the day before Thanksgiving. Ripe with all of the anticipation, unique ambience, good vibes, magic, love, joy, and peace.
        My day(s) would look something like this.
        I would make the twenty mile pilgrimage to Aquinnah, where the cliffs explode in vibrant colored clay. I’d meditate on the cliffs and talk to my friend Ron. I’d remember when him and I, along with a few other close friends, came here to bathe in the clay pits, swim in the pristine ocean, paint our naked bodies like crazed warriors with the colored clay, get stoned, and ogle all the naked women.
        I would ride my bike all over this quiet, peaceful island, getting in an entire day of cardiovascular exercise and sightseeing.
        The hotel I’m in is so beautiful, and the staff are so friendly, I would walk around it all day and just talk to people. Soaking in, and giving out, the positive holiday vibes. The next “day”, I’d sit in the lobby, in front of the fireplace, sip coffee, and read. And write. And read. And write. Repeat.
        I would go to South Beach and walk along the surf, having a conversation with my dad. He loved being on the Vineyard at Thanksgiving. Sometimes the memories of him here are so thick, I can feel him on my skin. His touch is beautiful, but it hurts. Because I miss him so much.
        My inspiration is so high, I would sit at my computer and write from sunrise to sunset.
        I would visit each and every little shop and boutique on the island, getting to know whoever worked there. I would ask them about their Thanksgiving plans, and make dozens of these precious little connections. I’d do lots of my Christmas shopping in these exclusive, unique stores, buying special one of a kind gifts for each of the special one of kind people in my life.
        My room is festive and cozy, so I would love to lie in bed all day and relax, watching every pre-Thanksgiving special on television. If I was with the woman I loved, we would order room service and fool around. A lot.
        Alas, I don’t have the ability to repeat this day ad infinitum. So I have to choose a small fraction of what I want to do, and only do it for a small fraction of the time I’d like to do it.
        Want, want, want. Love, love, love. Do, do, do.
        Maybe I need to just be.
        I hear that all the time, but I usually don’t know what the hell it means. I can try to just be, but I can’t try too hard, because then I’m not “being”. Then I’m “trying”. It gets very confusing.
        This scenario of wanting to do it all, and spend as much time as I want doing it, plays itself out whenever I’m assaulted with massive amounts of excitement, joy, and anticipation. For example, when I throw a party and want to spend every minute of the event with every person there. It happens on Christmas Eve. It happens on Christmas Day. It happens on...hell, there’s quite a few days like these.
        The ability to properly channel this delirious enthusiasm is something I still need help with. So I open up to it. I pray for it. I meditate around it. I talk about it. I write about. I share it. And I need to do all that. Because that’s how I want to move through life. That’s how I want to live.
        I have faith that I will get better at this just “being” thing without losing my maniacal, lovable, boyish enthusiasm. That I will learn how to relax into the moments of my life without losing my unique zest and personality. That I’ll learn to let go of the pressure I feel to do it all, all of the time, and surrender my resistance. I have faith that I will get better at living my life from the place I want to live it from. As I grow. As I practice spending less time in my head. As I learn to touch my soul. As I develop a more conscious contact to my higher power. And as I keep opening my positively over-flowing heart.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a stuffed turkey full of Wrongs) Reserved

Note: To see the pictures related to this entry, go here.