A weird, free way to feel good right now.

Hi, friends. Today I am here with a short little note today about how to feel good. Or, at least, about something that helps me feel good.

I woke up in a bad mood today. As I write this, it is about 99.9% humidity outside, which always makes me feel like the most grelim verison of myself, both physically and emotionally. But then I did the same thing I do every morning and I went in my office, put on my current hyperfixation playlist (below), opened this surf cam, and pulled out my journals.

Yes, surf cam. (I do not surf.) For as long I can remember, this livestream — the Avon Pier cam — has existed. At one point, I think it was perched on the actual pier. Now, it sits on a nearby rental house, with the pier visible in the distance. Weirdly enough, it’s the very same house I grew up staying in each summer. The view isn’t exactly the same, given how much the beach and dunes have changed with time and erosion, but it’s close enough.

When I started writing a book set on Hatteras, I began watching the cam more often for research and inspiration. Slowly, it became part of my daily routine, whether I was working on that novel or not. Now, I do it most mornings as I settle into my desk for the day. The beauty is easy and constant, though the weather and colors are ever-changing. Never the same two sunsets, never the same two storms, never the same shades of blue.

I’ve watched dogs chasing tennis balls into the waves and families walking hand-in-hand during sunrise. I’ve watched storms rolling in with waves so big they crest over the furthest railing of the pier and surfers bob idly in the waves. I’ve watched people read on blankets and chairs, on their backs and stomachs.

Occasionally, I watch people going about their day and silently send them positivity — no sunburns, the perfect beach sandwich, stacked tall with lunchmeat and kettle chips, a breeze that cuts the heat, etc. But if I’m honest, even this version of the habit is a selfish one. It all just makes me feel better. Both more aware of myself and less.

I never know a thing about the people that make their way into the livestream — not what they look like, or what they do for work. They are 600 miles away, grainy and ant-sized, but I can still tell when they’re intently watching the sunrise, or dragging their beach chair right up to the edge of the tide. In this way, I see them perfectly. I like them. There is something about being so far away but still understanding the parts about what I’m seeing that actually matter that instantly grounds me.

It makes it easier to imagine the way, way, way zoomed-out version of myself, too, or my life. If I see my life that way, not in terms of how I look within it or the small imperfections, but the whole, big picture of it, I feel nothing but good. I feel great. I like what I see.

Here was the view the other morning, for example. I sipped my coffee at my desk and kept thinking about that person in the shallows. What I knew for sure about them was that they chose to be there bright and early, alone. That they stood like that, staring at the sun on the water, for a very long time. It’s something I can imagine myself doing, but if I’m honest I know I’d likely stand there and wonder if the moment would be better if I was in a different body, or writing was going perfectly, etc. But if I zoom out… those details don’t matter anymore. I forget about most of the small stuff pretty quickly, and the important facts remain.

I think of that stranger at the edge of the water, and I know that the fact that they chose to be there says more about who they are than whatever they look like standing there. And, in this way, I start to think about myself differently, too.

Sometimes now I find myself going about my days and asking myself one simple question, again and again: What are you doing? If I’m at a book event and feel self-conscious or awkward, the answer is that I am in conversation with another author, living out a career I once dreamed of. If I’m getting dressed for a dinner with my husband or friends and hate how I look, the answer is that I am about to spend time with people who I love, and love me. If I’m stuck in a writing rut and feeling like an impostor, the answer is that I am sitting down at my desk, yet again, and trying to chase that feeling, that perfect, singular feeling that only writing brings, just like I am every day.

I know this isn’t exactly a revelatory shift in perspective, but weirdly it’s the surf cam that has helped me hold onto it. Often, when I ask myself what I’m doing, I picture myself on some imagined live stream, too, the image zoomed all the way out so I am also ant-sized, featureless, a tiny spec moving about my day. I see tiny me bringing my coffee into my office. Opening my journal. Taking a walk with my dog. Sitting with a friend on the porch. Even zoomed all the way out, I still know nothing is perfect. But I can always see that it is good.

That’s it for this one. But while I’m here… some other (mostly) free ways to feel good right now:

• Put on this ‘90s coffee shop playlist. Just trust me.

• Buy the coffee for the person behind you next time you’re in the drive-through line. Not free, but if you’re there spending money, anyway… I am telling you there is nothing that works quite like this. You will drive away smiling. I guarantee it.

• Clean out a single dresser drawer. Just one! It doesn’t have to be everything.

• Listen to this song while making yourself something nice to eat. Dancing encouraged. Boom. You are the main character.

• Write an email to the management of a local business you love complimenting a great employee. This seems complicated, but it really is not. It will take five minutes!

Share your ‘feel good right now’ tips in the comments, if you want. I wanna hear ‘em!

As always, thanks for reading and being here.

Olivia

A portion of August’s subscriber proceeds will go to Columbia Kitchen, a local nonprofit which helps provide free meals to those in need in my community.