Not alert in the way that braces for something, but awake in the way the body stays present when nothing is wrong. The air carried the smell of salt and seaweed—faint, persistent, unmistakable. It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t announce itself. It simply stayed, the way the sea does when it has nowhere else to go.
I walked along the promenade without a destination. Dogs passed. People passed. The town continued being itself without noticing me. I didn’t need it to do anything else.
There was a moment when I wanted to step out onto the sand, to walk closer to the water. The shore was farther than it looked, stretched thin by the tide. I hesitated, unsure whether the sea was coming in or pulling back. I stood there instead, letting the wanting remain incomplete. Nothing forced the decision. Nothing punished the pause.
What I didn’t know then—but can see now—is how much I’m drawn to solitary settings. Not because they isolate me, but because they reflect my interior state without distortion. The openness outside matched the quiet clarity inside. No amplification. No demand.
I didn’t need to make the walk meaningful. I didn’t need to remember faces or trace the town’s edges. I refused to turn Maryport into something symbolic. The promenade stayed a promenade. The people walking their dogs stayed ordinary. The town didn’t become a metaphor.
And because of that, the day stayed intact.
Maryport didn’t offer a revelation.
It offered permission—to be held and awake, and to leave without taking anything with me except the sense that nothing had been missing while I was there.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co.
Travel in Life 