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  • 1. Run to witness the uncanny

    Whenever migrating to new cities, to nestle in or to traipse about, give it a good run. Follow winding roads, climb hills that could lead to views, cliffs, or neighborhoods that otherwise may seem untouchable. As a form of disorientation, it may pull you from dangerously consuming moods or shake a disillusion. One disillusion could be, "Once you've seen one New England town you've seen them all." This leads to boxed-in autumns, computer screens, and undiscovered wonders.

    2. Learn that it takes getting lost to make a map

    On one such run, decide to stop pounding pavement. Hop a small wooden fence to an offseason beach club that is marked "private." Climb down a small wooden walk way that was likely drowned in Hurricane Sandy's shallow sweep of Cape Cod. Wander along the cove of the rocky beach until you discover a spit of land stretching out into the ocean. Take into consideration the the rising tide. And how lubricated the wall of rocks is that you will need to climb in order to reach the end of this spit. Remember that you are young (always) and that you can certainly dig your sneakers into each rock's crevice. Wander along a narrow dirt path, let the tall sweeping grass caress your calves. Become engulfed by the small forest. Relish in being alone. Oh, it is an expansive feeling. When you reach a natural stone balcony overlooking the sea, feel a strange burden, like excess skin, flake off and tumble down the rocky ledge. You have discovered "the Knob."

    3. (Re)consider documenting through your chosen medium

    You might stop to break the silence, to disrupt the wind's repetitive stroke across your bare cheeks. You might feel a strong desire to capture this organic reprieve. You might fumble around in your pockets for a device to gather the ingredients for a sonic postcard. You are nearly drooling now. Some drool might have fallen on your device. This causes you to 'snap out of it.'

    4. Put your recorder away. Remember:

    The ocean is notoriously hard to capture through sound. It seems to evade the mic. You might as well be hearing the rumble of a car, rather than the magestic turn of the tides. It's as if the ocean doesn't want to be archived. Some might say it is because the ocean is indifferent. Mightier than your digital nostalgia. But you might consider it an invitation. She'd rather you visit her and have a conversation, rather than archive and flee.
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