I grew up on an island with seven million other people. Let’s just say it was difficult to find a spot to call your own. One day, as a youngin’ exploring the world on my bike, I broke off a path that ran along Sunrise highway and continued on down a hiking trail that snaked along a waterway in the local state park. I eventually came to a small clearing, sat down, and heard the weirdest thing. Nobody. No cars, no lawnmowers, no people. Just the birds and the chipmunks and the occasional splash of a fish.
I felt as if I had stumbled on secret treasure. I spent a lot of time at this spot over my formative years, reading and thinking and being alone with my little patch of Long Island wilderness.
Before I left town for college I carved a “V” into the tree next to the water and said goodbye. While at college, I decided to major in biology, a decision shaped by my time out in the woods watching nature. I even wrote an essay about this spot for my freshmen writing class.
That biology major took on a life of its own, turning into an adventure through states, labs, and disciplines, and eventually resulting in a PhD from a zoology department and a dissertation on cancer and aging.
Last weekend Begum and I were visiting my parents and we decided to go for a quick hike before the ferry back to CT. A rush of memories came back, and I ran along this trail explaining my spot to her. She eventually found the V for me.
It was the first time in over a decade that I set foot in this clearing. Needless to say, it was a powerful experience, and it sparked a bout of retrospection that, thankfully, I have been happy to ride.
I said a thank you, and another goodbye, and we ran to catch our ferry.
This summer, I hope you go out and explore, and find your own spot.