Quiet Desperation

"The mass of men" Thoreau said, "lead lives of quiet desperation."

Have you ever had the kind of day, or week, where you would get immense satisfaction from taking a pile of dishes, obviously not your prized Lennox, or my beloved Polish pottery, and hurling them with all your might against a brick wall? I don't lead a life of "quiet desperation", but I sure have a day of it every now and again.

And then there's only one thing for it, smashing crockery not being an option. I have to get out of here. Even stomping around in the trees out back won't help. I have to go where there is vastness and beauty; enough to humble me, enough to make me realise I'm being an ass, that most of it is in my head, and help me regain some perspective. It helps if there is water there. When I was young, I'd flounce out of the house, slamming doors behind me, and head for the banks of the Shannon, and walk, and walk, and vehemently walk, until the anger, or the fear, or the frustration was all stomped out of me.

I'd return like a lamb, and deal calmly with whatever it was had set me off, thereby avoiding the necessity of buying new dishes,and the possibility of an ass kicking from an authority figure.

So down to the water I went, a few nights ago, to watch the sunset, and clear my head. I brought my camera, in hopes of finding interesting clouds, but all the clouds were behind me as I stood at the water's edge, looking out at the gulf. Nothing but a swiftly sinking orange ball.


There's always a good turnout to watch the sun go down. Old folks come, shuffling along on the arms of younger friends. Retirees bring their guests and their folding chairs. Young parents bring their offspring, in hopes, perhaps, of tiring them out before bedtime. Teenagers come to hang out, and clown around at the water's edge. Old couples, young couples, families, dogs, teenagers.....and me.

After the glowing sun sinks below the horizon, the little knots disperse. There's a sigh in the air, of contentment, and peace. Mother Nature has come through for us again. Proving that no matter how good or bad a day we had, she can be depended on to finish it off the same way she always does, unmoved by our nonsense.

The sky turns dull, and as I watch, a dapper little dog dances at the dark edge of the water; a boy and girl have a few last "go's" on a boogie board; silhouettes drift towards the parking lot, and I think how insignificant we all are, for all our angst and agonizing.

The light is fading fast, from purple to navy. A few stars are out, and a pale "fingernail"* moon. The drone of cars rises, then falls away as the parking lot empties.

It's so still now. A lone, lazy gull flaps low over the water; a little wave slaps on the pebbles; the murmuring voices and quiet laughter of a young couple carry across the stillness. Was I ever that young, I wonder? If I was, it was too long ago.


The beach is quiet. Like my life. Everyone is leaving.

I sprint for my car across the parking lot. The gates close at sundown.....I drive home slowly through the darkness, serenity restored. Desperation, quiet or otherwise, has been pushed away for another while.....




Note: No dishes were smashed in the writing of this post. Just so you know.


*A phrase, coined in great excitement one evening in California, by my oldest son, who came inside to call us to come out and see "the beautiful fingernail moon." We've never called it a crescent moon since.