And also, if I may be indulged, I couldnt help noticing that Tennessee also seemed to have the highest percentage of pretty women of any state I've traveled through.

You get out of your car in the parking lot of the visitor center, and you note that the main drag of the interstate is shielded by trees and brush, and the parking lot is actually quiet, the quiet of woods.  You note the many mature white pines shading the visitor center and all the picnic benches, and then note that these pines have scented the air with their wonderful scent, and that you can't smell diesel stink.  Their needles cushion the ground.  Your dog leaps for joy and starts dancing in circles because she can walk on soft pine needles instead of concrete.

The people smile and greet you warmly.

You drive on, and come to any of the towns along the ocean.  They all have their rough edges and peeling paint, but also that classic New England seashore beauty.  People talk funny, sometimes.  You note the fishmongers at the docks selling live lobstah, fresh off the boat, for $3.99 a pound.  (That's cheaper than beef and only a quarter more than pork sausage, FWIW.)  

You see recipes like this illustrated on the tv.  If it's good to eat, it's probably better if you add some lobster.

Cross the street on foot, and traffic stops for you.  In Maine, it's the law, BTW.  Just so you know.

When you cross into New Jersey, OTOH, the first thing you hit is a pothole.

Don't get me wrong.  I love the vibe of NYC and Philly and cities in general.  I love the way a concentration of people in a great city yields art and music and creativity in all its magnificent varieties.  I love the way one can get lost in the crowd in a great city and the amazing eye-contact communication which goes on in the crowd walking along the sidewalk in NYC.  I love being able to walk to the store or the restaurant or the whatever.

But I keep coming back to that sign.

When I was contemplating moving to Florida to accept this job, which is a lot less stress than my other jobs, one of the questions I was trying to answer for myself was: how much does it matter where I live? I knew I would not like the landscape, weather, etc. of Florida as much as Colorado, but I was hoping it would not really matter that much. Turns out it matters a lot, to me anyway. In Colorado every time I stepped outside, even if was working so much that it was not that often, I could breath that thin dry air and look at those mountains and get a sense of beauty.  In California, yes, I had a 45 minute commute, and lived in a too-expensive rented apartment, but at the end of the day I could walk to the beach and pier and that ocean just took all that stress away.

More important, might contentment be overrated? Seriously, isn't restlessness, even outright discontent, often a catalyst for creativity?

Or could the highest tobacco taxes in the nation be playing a role here? Yeah...That's the ticket:)

But, I grew up in central Illinois, where the world stretches all the way out to the horizon. And still, after more than three decades out here, I find myself startled when something- mountains, foothills- stops my vision. After a while I find that a trip to the coast and a walk on the beach and a good long time with my gaze turned to the ocean which ends at the horizon, is required to restore equilibrium.