It was less than a week ago, I thought, while looking at the photograph of the empty beach, that I had been in a different world. It felt very far away, but I was still glad to have experienced it. I could still remember the rush of diving into the cold water, and this memory was valuable as I returned to the city and confronted the usual hassles of daily life: rising temperatures, rotting infrastructure, ailing minds and bodies (by which I mean my own).
On our last day in Michigan, I climbed the 303 steps to the top of Mount Baldhead, where at the summit I encountered a family with two small children, who went flying down the other side in front of me. As nice as it was to see these kids running with such glee and abandon, I can't deny feeling a little jealous (but only for a second, because I don't envy anyone growing up in today's world).
Here's a photograph of the children running down the hill, just without the children.
When Stephen and I booked a summer vacation in Saugatuck and Douglas, we had expected it to be more like Fire Island or 'P-Town' or the gay pride march or other locales where it's possible for a few minutes to forget that you, as a gay person, are vastly outnumbered by straight people who generally speaking* are oblivious to your existence and concerns, if not antagonistic.
*there are many exceptions to this rule, but it is still a rule.
What we realized is that there are two societies in Saugatuck/Douglas: one is entirely gay, but it's contained in a nearby resort and a nearby campsite, each of which can be found a few miles inland; the second society, which exists along the coast and in the business districts of the towns, is 'gay friendly' (which here, like most such places, means pricey!) but very mixed; there are plenty of gays (and gay symbols) to be found (and to feel safe), but there are also 'hordes of str8 ppl' (many with baby strollers!), and you shouldn't expect to see ten thousand shirtless gay men gyrating at a tea dance in the dunes. Once we understood this reality, we felt less confused and were able to settle in to our preferred milieu, gyrating at the tea dance. (Just kidding: we're too old for that, but it's nice to know that it's happening, just as it's nice to spend your money at gay-friendly venues, even if you suspect that you're the only gay there, when doing the opposite -- i.e., spending money at gay-unfriendly venues -- can feel so much worse.)
There's also a third milieu, also appealing in a different way, where nobody can be found.
Here, I was mesmerized by a dead tree.
And the dune grass.
And the network of paths leading into the trees.
There's a part of me that would like to escape 2024 by fleeing into the wilderness.
But let's be real. I can barely hammer a nail. How am I supposed to exist 'off the grid'?
I'm most comfortable in the wilderness that is life in the city.
There's a strange thing that happens when you take photographs of hills, which is that -- in the picture itself -- you can't really tell whether the hill is going up or down.
Stephen and I walked to the end of the beach, where I admired the broken staircases.
It's comforting to know that the world, even as it becomes more militant, is still falling apart. I remember being infatuated with the concept of 'entropy' long before I understood why. Now that I'm older, it's pretty clear :)
There are forces at work that cannot be controlled by anyone, not even the 'inner circles' of our leading politicians.
Sometimes it's nice to stop pretending, to dive in, to surrender to the chaos.
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