For me, writing is a curious, sinewy, writhing joy of a process. As I continue to write, one issue I will almost certainly need to contend with involves, literally and ironically both, my availability to write what and when I need to write. It is not, for example, that the source material is there, logged and numbered and catalogued in my brain, waiting to be tapped at my leisure. I admit I envy that writer’s sense of style. Rather, for me, the thoughts are here, right here, right now. It is of no consequence to anyone but me whether I reach out to grab them, these words, from my brain space one-by-one, and arrange them all in a linear, entertaining strand to suggest a post or an essay. Either way, my source remains for only moments. Too often, it happens in those Not-So-Wee Wee Hours, somewhere after 2 but before 5 AM. The words begin swirling, the story takes shape, the characters and the words and the authenticity and the inspiration all hit at once. And again, I can take it or leave it. But let there be no doubt, the magic bounds from me, seemingly letter-by-letter and word-by-word, the last of them free of the constraints of my mind once the sun makes it’s initial press up against the darkness.

I am more keenly aware of the entire process here, parked just yards from the clean, brimming, frothy Gulf of Mexico. Out of my element, where I can really watch the process.

So what was it that drove me out from beneath several sand-and-shell themed comforters to the keyboard this late, late night?

A few things, I suppose. The first is, “I am happy.” There. Read that again. I am happy. Here. Now.

Why?

Well, the Gulf of Mexico, for one. I am just happy around water. To be in it, to hear it rhythmically lunge and bubble and splash and surge and retreat. The screen door’s open. Hear that? The boisterous calming party is on. This, to me, is happy. Me free of all undue anxiety. I don’t know about you, but for me, this is a rare and cherished time. I gladly trade sleep to acquire more of it.

There are some other obvious reasons for my high spirits. I am on vacation. I am with my beautiful wife and child. We are spending time talking and laughing with great friends. I am running and exercising on God’s great beach, nearly deserted, save for the occasional beaming, sweaty fellow jogger. We are eating food and such. Krispy Kremes. Cokes. You know, nice basics like that.

But this stuff doesn’t always make me happy. I’ve taken such vacations before, all the above trappings inclusive. Yet I recall many times feeling anxious, nervous, downright unhappy.

What’s different right now?

Well, I always have felt that vacations are best spent punctuating greatness, celebrating recent greatness attained, with pre-planning future greatness as the undercurrent of the vacation-related festivities. But only now do I feel close to that. I do not remember another vacation during which I felt I deserved to be part of it all. Curiously, once you feel you deserve it, it turns out you actually need and demand less out of a vacation itself. It’s a nice, calm feeling. I like being here knowing I have the irons heating nicely in the fires of change back home.

But wait, there are other problems right here, right now, this week, yes?

True. Julie and I arrived at our final destination well burnt out after fifteen hours in the car with George and two of his best friends. A quick run-through of the amenities here in paradise, and we would be off to the local Tom Thumb (7-11 of the South) for staples, mostly chocolate and/or alcoholic ones. We hop in the car for the quick run, and there is a noise developing in the area of the front undercarriage of the ’97 Ford Explorer. The noise groans and creaks for several seconds, as the front of the car lists from side-to-side, gently at first, but with the clear and present threat of explosion, perhaps or, no less dramatically, total collapse. This will not do. Surely, anxiety and AAA await.

But first thing the next morning, my friend Ilene presents to me a plan concocted in the early morning hours with her husband Mark. “Today we will rest. Tomorrow, we’ll get your car in to the shop. No matter what, we’ll follow you close all the way home to Chicago at the end of the week.”

What is an anxiety-prepared body supposed to do with that? Well, nothing much, I found out. I took a swim, laughed a lot at dinner, trusted in my friends and felt so grateful for their help, went to sleep. Hmmm.

So now, the house is full of illness, disease, imperceptible motes and mites preying on our initially healthy host bodies. My son caught a vicious cold from somewhere deep within the clammiest recesses of the chest cavity of a fellow 7th grader, and it has been predictably passed through the vacation house like dysentery on the Mayflower. I’ve spent the better part of the week so far battening down my proverbial hatches, preparing for the worst, sucking on dry, wretched Zinc tablets and gargling with Hydrogen Peroxide. Sexy.

Strange thing here is, I’ve not gotten sick. I feel fine.

Gratitude rarely comes this easily. I am thankful for my health, yes. That’s an easy one.

I am thankful there are people on the Gulf Coast of Florida who are expert in the diagnosis and repair of suspension issues in ’97 Ford Explorers.

I am grateful for my family and friends, and the wildly undiluted joy their presence affords me.

I am grateful for this beach, the privilege of spending time at the rare special spots where land joins the sea, where life gracefully meets life.

I am ever-so-grateful that my ’97 Ford Explorer waited for my three favorite teenagers to successfully disembark before warming up the Rusted-Out Front-End Suspension Orchestra.

And I am grateful for the magic of thought tonight, the swirl of word and imagery that has found, hopefully, a suitable home within these pages. And I thank us all for being available to these thoughts.

And I thank you. I thank you for affording me the time, inspiration and motivation to capture my thoughts this night.

Sometimes you just have to acknowledge, to the world, that it is on the whole quite good to be alive.

Anyway, it’s late, about 3:20 AM. Ill’ try sleeping now.

Good night!