I’ve been vacationing on the Oregon coast. I’d never been to Oregon before. It’s gorgeous. I could totally see myself retiring here, if retirement weren’t some distant fantasy for me. And if I hadn’t seen so many Donald Trump yard signs.
My first two days were sunny and clear. Not a cloud in the sky. You could see for miles. I had no idea how spoiled I was.
After that, the fog rolled in. But that was okay, because I’d written a few “lazy days” into my itinerary. Days to just cave up and read books, write blogs, nap… that sort of thing.
I spent one foggy day luxuriating in my own company and cuddling with my dogs. Something about this place made me sleep that good kind of sleep that causes you to wake up feeling refreshed and renewed. It’s been a while.
The next several days, it was pouring rain. I had to do some of my sightseeing anyway, because I only had so much time left. I saw glimpses of a lighthouse through the fog. (Which made me all the more glad it was there.) I listened to waves crashing up on the rocks. I stood inside a cave as the rain fell.
At first, I was irritated that I couldn’t see through the fog. I spent a great deal of time annoyed that I was missing out. Silly me.
This is the Oregon coast. This experience is the Oregon coast. I saw exactly what I was supposed to see.
And it was beautiful.
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