Sept 18th.

Lovers,

Happiest of September 18ths to you.

I'm currently sitting in front of a very large and intimidating macbook pro in my sister's cozy green office, in the middle of her colonial, New England-style home at her brand new Massachussetts address, and wondering just what it would take for me to get to this place in life someday.

Lovers, I have fallen in love with the East Coast.

I know I say the phrase "I have fallen in love" more than the average person should in their lifetime, but this time I really mean it.

The air here is thick with the desire to write.

Every single day I've been here my mind has been buzzing with overwhelming and distracting rabbit trails.

I was making cookies earlier this evening and I couldn't even do that without outlining a miniature sitcom-esque dialogue in my mind about a reunion and an argument and a pair of decadent brown eyes the same color of chocolate chips.

I halfway considered writing it down.

Luckily, I reconsidered.  It was cheesy with a side of nauseating. But still.  It was there, and I haven't been doing that sort of plot developing in years.

I even pulled out my notebook in a coffee shop, surrounded by my family members and wrote for a solid 10 minutes, completely ignoring their presence.

I've never had the balls to do that.  Even though I've had the desire to tune them all out and write down my thoughts more times than I can count.

I finally did it. Something about the way that even the sunlight filters through the trees here is different than the west coast, and it inspires me to no end.

The first thing I told my sister the morning after our plane landed was "Hallie, I could write here."

And she told me she felt the same way, for the first time in 6 years.

Not to mention the Atlantic Ocean is teeming with powerful reflection.

The Pacific Ocean captures my heart and my feelings and the way my blood coarses through my veins.

But the Atlantic Ocean captures and reflects all the shadows of my mind, and that is so much more important to a writer, because finding a place that mirrors your genius, your very psyche, is extremely rare.

I don't want to leave here.

I want to relocate here.  Semi-immediately.

Distractions, distractions, distractions.

God just keeps sending them full-throttle into my life.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever actually accomplish my original goal: Ballymaloe.

It's like, the road to get there has taken me through all of these random pit-stops, captured in essence by beach towns and memorable visitors, unforgettable locals, schools, vacations and now a writer's paradise.... I've gotten so lost in the moment I've forgotten where I'm going.

And yet there's still a small voice in the back of my mind whispering for me to stop worrying about it.

The road is long.  The journey is unwritten. I'm one of those people who needs distractions in order to passionately focus on the end goal.

And maybe the end goal isn't even the end goal.  Maybe the end goal is just a door through which to pass into my beautiful and distraction-laced future.

I could get used to that.

Who says I can't be free?

Goodnight, lovers-

Sweet dreams.