The first views of this place are utterly familiar. The exact same. But then I got out of the car and my right foot landed lazily on the earth. I ran down to the dock to get the last of the sunset pictures of the dock and it hit me half way down… This place is not the same. 
The same glittering anticipation of arriving was not actually about the place, beautiful in its own right, but it was about who was there. It was Nana’s and Papas house more than it was 1285 South Shore Road. The first step onto the dock covered in a weathered blue tarp. My footing was different but the view was the same. The water seemed shallower, and the air not as clean. The dock was small almost microscopic. There was heavy weight in every noise and gesture of the dock and water. 
I turned to look at the house and it too was small, discolored and weathered, but still meekly lit up with every light bulb available. 
Inside I heard voices. Familiar voices of my family gathered around the worn oak table for 6. The mood tense and the conversation forced by habit. The topics bouncing between lively and grim in such a haphazard way that if it were a scene in a TV show, I the viewer would wince in it’s uncomfortable-ness. But it’s exactly what I predicted. 
I  was reading a blog today at work that talked about writing for better effectiveness and understanding from your readers. In addition to finding many flaws with my writing style while reading through the guy’s tips and tricks he broke away and mentioned the most important tactic for proper editing which he deemed, time and distance “Putting some time and distance between yourself and a relationship, a career, a friendship, a lifestyle -- whatever -- will likely give you invaluable perspective, illuminating faults as well as strong points.” He made the point that writing is no different. Interesting, I thought to myself. 
Time and Distance does give and epic amount of perception. Like perception regarding the above scenario. 
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