This past May, when I decided to go on sabbatical I wrote that I needed a break because:

I had no perspective on anything, I was so deep into my world of weblogs and tech that I didn't have much sense of what was going on outside of my geek circles… I've been burning my candle at both ends for years now, and decided it was time to stop. Emotionally I was drained. Physically I was drained.

But that wasn't the full truth of it, because there was something I'd been feeling that I wasn't quite able to admit. It's taken me several months of time away from computers and tech and geeks to accept the fact that computers and technology are not my passion.

My interest in the web and tech was always more about people. With weblogs, it was making it possible for everyone to write online and share and communicate. And while I was doing it, I really did care very deeply about my work — the products we were creating, the people for whom they were built, and the people who worked with me to build them. As my career progressed, I pushed myself to be more visible as a technology speaker, dabbled at freelance writing, and started another tech company. But something was always missing, and I've realized that was true passion for what I was doing.

So last night I ended my sabbatical and began my new career doing something I've always felt passionate about: cooking. I'm working in the kitchen of a restaurant called Fifty-Six Union (mentioned at the bottom of this Feasting on Nantucket article) here on Nantucket. Yesterday at 3 PM I put on my black chef's clogs, my black pants and white t-shirt, pulled my Red Sox cap over my hair and got to work peeling and deveining shrimp. Seven hours later, sweatily scrubbing the kitchen floors, I was still smiling.

I've learned a lot this summer during my sabbatical but it all can be summarized in three words: follow your heart.

Holy moly but I can't believe it's September already! I'm not sure where the entire summer went, but it seems to be nearly gone. The nice thing about that? So are the tourists! Different plants are blooming, traffic is returning to what it was back in June, and we're into an R month so I can go shellfishing for oysters!

I don't come from a family of car people, you know, those kind of people that actually car about cars, buy new cars, keep their cars clean, and/or actually name their cars. No, my parents represented that rarest of California demographic during their eight years in the Bay Area: the one car family. Nearly my whole life our four-person family had one solid, dependable car. Nothing too flashy, and rarely anything new. At this very moment, my parents swear their current car (purchased used) is satisfactory, even though they just had the door welded back on because it was rusted through and nearly fell off.

So imagine my surprise this summer when I discovered that there was a vehicle for me! After years of avoiding driving as much as possible, and in general demonstrating great distain for all things car, I've unlocked one of my life's mysteries. You know how they say you really figure out who you are in your thirties? Well I've discovered I am a truck person!

I've been lucky to have a 1996 Ford pick-up at my disposal this summer, and boy have I enjoyed tooling around in it! Aside from its obvious greatness due to its green color, it's also just fun. It bumps along the dirt roads in a very satisfying manner. Its bed is perfect for holding my clamming gear, or mulch, or just beach chairs. And everywhere I go, I share knowing nods with other island pick-up truck drivers. Yup, I may not be a car person. But I sure am a truck person.

Currently one of the most popular news items at Yahoo! News is Caterpillar Population Explodes in Mass. As a current resident of Mass., I can testify to the disgusting omnipresence of caterpillars. All around my house there are zillions of tent caterpillars. When I first arrived on island in mid-May, they were just exiting their tents. Now they are in all the plants, climbing up the sides of the house, and marching across the deck. They are big, furry, gross, and filled with juicy guts that explode when you step on them. My mom tried to squish one last weekend and it blew up all over her foot. Ick.

On Sunday I had a special date with my seven year old second cousin, McKenna. We planned to go clamming together, that is, dig up clams on the beach at low tide. (And then take them home and eat them!) The day broke clear and warm, a slight breeze but nothing too chilling. We sat in the sun as we awaited the low tide in the early afternoon. And as 1 PM neared, we climbed into the pickup truck with our rakes, basket, and brand new rubber gloves and headed to the western end of the island. Our destination was a small strip of land inside Madaket Harbor called Jackson's Point (here's a map of west Nantucket, we went right above the "E" on the map).

We arrived to find the beach deserted, not only of people but of the soft-shelled clams (aka "steamers") we'd hope to dig up. The sand was littered with empty scallop shells as we began our explorations. Soon we happened upon clusters of mussels all wrapped together in sand, mud, and grass and we changed our plan. Mussels it would be! We gathered about three pounds as we explored the beach at low tide.

In addition to mussels, we found a knobbed whelk (the whelk was still inside the shell) and the cutest little hermit crab. We watched sea gulls catch and eat crabs on the beach and collected some shells. And after it was all done, we drove into town for an ice cream cone. More than once McKenna said to me, "Meghan, this has been one of the best days of my life!" And you know what? It was a really special one for me too.

That night, McKenna and I steamed the mussels for the rest of our family. Since we didn't have any white wine, we substituted beer instead. Everyone agreed the mussels were delicious. If you like mussels, why not try McKenna and Meghan's Mussels next time you're preparing some.

Gotten my shellfish permit so I can go clamming.
Made a roaring fire with only one match.
Planted lots of alyssum and petunias.
Eaten many cups of clam chowder, not all at the same time.
Slept with four blankets and still been cold.
Read one Nantucket-based murder mystery which has made me scared at night.
Set-up my internet connection and downloaded 10,000 emails.

So far, so good.

I've never been one to slow down, let alone stop. When I wrapped up my work on Kinja in late April, I assumed I'd take a week or two to think about stuff and then dive back into work: write some articles, hit a conference or two, and pick up some consulting projects. And of course, at the same time, I'd be planning what big thing to do next: start another company or maybe develop a non-profit aimed at getting blogging into public schools. And then I realized a few things. I was exhausted and still hadn't shaken a throat infection I've had since early March. I had no perspective on anything, I was so deep into my world of weblogs and tech that I didn't have much sense of what was going on outside of my geek circles. And most importantly and luckily, I had some savings. I looked at my bank account and realized that financially there was no reason for me to immediately push into new projects.

I've been burning my candle at both ends for years now, and decided it was time to stop. Emotionally I was drained. Physically I was drained. I might stop for a few weeks, maybe for a few months, I haven't decided. Part of the plan is to not plan so much, not worry about the future, to just enjoy the present and experience it. I'm calling it my sabbatical. I'm going to Nantucket for a while. I may post to this site a lot, but I may not post at all. I'm going to read and go running and take pictures and spend time with family. And sleep. And just be.

Since last Monday — no not yesterday, Monday April 5th — I have had a nap every afternoon lasting in duration from one to over two hours! That's eight straight days of napping, and frankly I'm about done with all the tiredness. I'm ready to get back to the business of living.

If you happen across a giant swath of dry skin on the streets of New York City in the next few days, it's probably mine. After conscientiously applying SPF 30 multiple times a day in Anguilla and suffering only a bit of sunburn on my face, I am now leaving an epidermal trail throughout Manhattan. I blame the recent snow and excessive work schedule for causing my tan to flee.

Apparently after I last posted, the fan on the web server that hosts this site shuffled off its mortal coil, and headed for a higher fanly plane. And because of the timing of things, it took a long time for the replacement to settle into its new home. But now it's here, and I've certainly forgotten everything I intended to write. The more I think, "I need to write more posts!" the less I ever write. Perhaps now with the new humming fan, things will get back on track. Oh yeah, and A-Rod to the Yankees?! Argh!