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I didn’t go far. I discovered a small, lakefront motel that was about a half-hour drive up the coast from Harbor Shores. Marta, the friendly, matronly woman behind the front desk, gave me a rate for the week and an actual metal key for my room’s door. It had been a while since I had seen one of those, and I knew instantly that I had found the right place to stay.
My room was small, but clean and functional. I unpacked my travel bag and took a walk along the lakeshore. I found some colorful rocks along the way and placed them in the pocket of my hoodie. The wind off the lake was clean and refreshing. If I couldn’t sort out my feelings in this wonderful spot, then I was a hopeless mess.
I spent the week walking the shoreline, eating in the diner two doors down from my motel, and simply
