Eat fish and chips, mac and cheese, or whatever your favourite comfort food is for breakfast.
Drink vodka, whiskey, red wine.
Wear “too much” or “too little” make-up.
Read Big Magic; choose to abide by it (or at least try really hard).
Start a bucket list.
Write a letter.
Take a long bath in the afternoon with a coffee-grind mask that stains the white bathmat and will make the housekeepers wonder.
When you are tired, pass out to the dulcet tones of British TV shows about antiques.
Remember your Old Life—then let it go.
But check in with the people you love back there, in your Old Life. Don’t let them go.
Know you absolutely can do it in a new way. Then cry, because half the time you don’t believe this, really.
Do yoga despite the heartburn, with a focus on the hips.
Watch TV—but not for more than an hour at a time.
Smile at the old people playing bridge in the lobby of the antiquated hotel, and at the mob of red-faced, navy-blazered Old Boys’ club that gathered around the bar one evening, all bald-headed and jovial.
Smile at the kids playing in the sand, chasing the seagulls…until the mother pulls out bread bits to feed to the seagulls (please don’t feed the birds).
Smile at the arthritic and slightly wet black lab trying to nose into your medoicre-at-best breakfast fish and chips.
Re-do your website.
Share a story in the secret women’s-only Facebook group.
Decide to pug sit in Hollywood over Christmas.
Wonder how one person could possibly be so content.
Wonder how one person could possibly feel so distant from those that she loves.
Go to the aquarium and simultaneously marvel while dipping into a concrete sort of sadness; you want to be with these creatures, but (mostly) not like this.
Take the French lessons you’ve been meaning to take for 2 years.
Practice finishing what you started.
Take a social media/job-search break for 12 hours to read Beautiful Losers and write.
Tell stories about the time you saw a giant tortoise eat it’s own…well, maybe not. It was more the reaction of the other observers that was priceless.
Forget about how the much-younger-but-still-cold-and-overly-formal bartender kept calling you “Ma’am.”
Enjoy the shit out of the complementary tea, custard creams, gingerbread and shortbread that sits waiting in every hotel room there, ’cause they just don’t do that at home.
Don’t worry that you were 2 hours away from Stonehenge with a completely open schedule but still didn’t go and see it. You will be back soon enough.
Turn everything off and just read.
Colour with the window open, sitting on the floor, watching the sunset, with the sea breeze cooling your wine-warmed face.
Wonder (stop wondering) why you can’t seem to be in love with the right person, ever.
Find a new rhythm.
Eat fruit slowly.
Devote yourself to living by the sea in a more permanent way.
Don’t let the cheapness of the combed sand or the too-small aquarium tanks or pier toll sway you from just visiting places likekitchy, old-timey beach towns. Those are really the best, anyhow.