Sometimes we need to find the still water in our life. Whether it comes from a trip to somewhere, a routine, a game or just a quiet reflective pause. To be still is to become.

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This time and place in our lives feels angry. Confusion reigns from small towns and communities to the largest of cities here in the state and across the country. Today even the quiet waters of Downeast life are suddenly loud. Something feels “off” for the first time in a long time.

Finding those still waters in my life always involved a place where I could suspend time for a moment, take a deep breath and appreciate all that is around me. For the last ten years Downeast has been that place. The blood pressure cuff falls loose as the frown turns upwards amidst a blue sky that eternally kisses these waters with baptismal grace. We are so lucky to live here, are we not?

I do not know what our world will look like a year from now much less our place here Downeast. Anger has the ability to seep into just about any fold of life no matter where it is. A coastline of granite may subdue a wave but anger’s ability to spread is daunting. It requires a collective moment to take hold, to snap everyone out of it, bring them back to that place of goodness.

It was a much simpler time here all of the time. Now pervasive political noise has entered the fray and people’s regard for one another will diminish if we do not check that anger at the front door. We need to find some peace by returning to a place where we can turn down the “noise” when life seems confusing.

Amidst turmoil — as the past has proven — there is resilience within each of us and in our routines of daily life. Our challenge is to seek and find it again like nature does every day. Nature has its rhythm synced with whatever we seem to throw at her. Time and again she has proven formidable. We must do the same by seeking those still waters in life.

I know with certainty that outside my window the waters will come and go with the tide; the trail to Green Point I will always find; the sunrises in Starboard remain glorious and the pocked surface of mud in the cove pops with the sunlight when the tide is out.

And I will take that deep breath, wave, hug and smile; listen to, talk to, comfort and support my fellow Downeasters as we go about our day seeking our collective routines that this place provides.

A long time ago I remember when a bunch of us kids in the neighborhood where I grew up decided to play a game of whiffle ball one summer afternoon. Our neighborhood was the typical city neighborhood with its friendly and not so friendly houses.

That afternoon the game went way beyond the normal length of play. We were in extra-extra innings when the sun began setting. Curious parents and others from the neighborhood started to show up wondering why we missed supper. The game went on, we were all tired and the score was tied. What we did not know was that time was about to slow down, create a moment in a place familiar to all of us.

As it got dark more adults arrived, not with anger on their faces but with smiles. There was genuine excitement as they all gathered, exchanged handshakes, some hugged, and all sat and watched us run the bases. Spot lights were plugged in and the game went on. We had our fans — the entire neighborhood was now there and all of us were a cumulative unit staring at a singular moment in time.

Disgruntled neighbors sat next to happy ones, past arguments were forgotten, anger slid off shoulders and faces, replaced by smiles, cheers and laughter. All who were there that evening found a patch of still water while watching the neighborhood kids play a game of whiffle ball.

I know times are uncertain and our pent-up nervous energy has us twisting in circles. We need to seek and find that still water to both soothe the angst and once again bring all of us together, like that whiffle ball game did a very long time ago.

© 2025 RJ Heller

Published: The Quoddy Tides, April 2025