I spent the weekend in Charleston and for the first time in months I did NO WORK the whole weekend. No studying. No online discussion postings. No freelance work. No play reviews.
Instead I ate oysters at a beautiful waterside restaurant. I had a bloody mary and the world's best burger out at Poe's on Sullivan's Island. I drank beer at three in the afternoon on a rooftop bar, with the whole city spread out around me. I went to a lovely party at mine, the loveliest of colleges, where I drank sangria and ate mini barbecue sandwiches and danced to a band underneath a canopy of live oaks and stars.
It was perfect. I miss this. I don't have weekends like that in Richmond. One because I have too much darn work to do. But also because I don't know if weekends like that exist anywhere else but Charleston. My friends and I kept saying how it felt like a wedding weekend-that carefree, giddy, joyful feel of every moment, even the most normal, being an extension of a big, old party.
Maybe I'm romanticizing it now that I don't live there, but in my memory, nostalgic as it may be, that WAS Charleston, every weekend. Everything is just a little bit brighter. I lived there for four and a half years, but it still felt like vacation a lot of the time-a succession of carefree moments cobbled together to form endless, unhurried days full of sand and cold drinks and the complete absence of stress. There was always time for a trip to the beach or a lazy Saturday morning brunch or a shopping stroll on King Street.
I miss my Charleston weekends very much. But at least I know that one of those weekends is always just a drive away.