After yesterday’s withdrawal from the cycling circuit, I felt instantly restored this morning as I mounted the sturdy Atlas tricycle and pushed off. Rising promptly at eight o’clock further eased my burgeoning sense of aging—sleeping late feels like an incalculable violation of the day, yet more and more, it is all I prefer to do. It reminds me of my late father, whom I often caught napping on the deck of his house.

While a brief respite from exercise has its benefits, this morning’s modest tricycle ride (Workout Time: 31:57, Distance: 3.57KM) proved even more valuable—providing a psychological boost that helped me resist slipping into complete lethargy and uselessness. To this noticeable improvement I afterwards added the placidity of the Slovak State Philharmonic Orchestra performing Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1 with  Romanza-Larghetto.

The Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, Op. 11, is a piano concerto written by Frédéric Chopin in 1830, when he was twenty years old. It was first performed on 12 October of that year, at the Teatr Narodowy (the National Theatre) in Warsaw, Poland, with the composer as soloist, during one of his “farewell” concerts before leaving Poland.

I was relieved of further anxiety about which profitable endeavours to pursue by the sudden though precisely forecast downpour. A cold front will persist tomorrow. The shift to cooler temperatures condensed the air, triggering stormy conditions that have already dissipated, allowing brightness to return.

Meanwhile, I have attended to the matter of nourishment. Breakfast was deliberately bypassed this morning in anticipation of the forecasted rain. When the time came, my meal of steel-cut oats and hearty cereal bread satisfied my basic needs, grounding me in the rhythm of another day on Hilton Head Island.

Our undeniable isolation at the island’s southernmost point combined with the inevitable effects of aging and limited mobility creates a sense of being somewhere altogether different. No longer do I feel compelled to relive the pleasures of the ocean or its dunes. Instead, I find myself drawn to a quieter, more deliberate exploration of my immediate surroundings: the shifting tides in the cove, the golden tranquility of sunlit afternoons on the deck, and the lush, salt-tinged aroma of the marshes.

Looking back at past seaside photographs offers little now. The present moment, with its subtleties and small discoveries, holds far more to appreciate.