I’m not sure I can recall the last time I saw a large body of water, the kind with a beach at one edge and no land visible on the other side. But, for some reason, beachfront images are all that I’m painting these days. My sketchbook and little pieces of practice paper are filled with my attempts at capturing different aspects of water, sky, and sand.

It must be said, my easily freckled skin and I usually equate beaches with sunburns and sand sneaking into places it doesn’t belong. I wasn’t a child who begged to go to the pool and have never enjoyed donning a swimming suit. But, here I am, cranking out these cliched images, scenes from someone else’s idyllic summer vacation.

It occurred to me, what appeals to me most about these images is not so much what’s in them as what lies beyond them. I see something new, something more, something I can’t see . . . yet.

A friend observed that my writing reflects a “lighter spirit” these days. Nothing tangible has changed in my life. Work, love, finances, parenting, they’re all pretty much in the same condition they were at this time last year. But perhaps my thinking has changed. The tone of my writing is less reflective of what is and more of an attempt to presumptively echo what I hope will be.

I want to be more creative, more open, more in love with my own life, so I write only what mirrors those moments for me. And it’s more than “fake it ’til you make it,” it’s my way of choosing to see what I need to see. Right now those moments may be small, but if I give them my focus, instead of the worries and woes and observations of what I’m lacking, then like a spark gifted with kindling, perhaps they’ll catch fire.

The luminous life I seek still feels as far away as the nearest beach, but I can see it, even if it’s only in my imagination.