This summer I spent some time on Monhegan Island, a small, windswept rock ten miles off the coast of Maine. There’s not much to do there in the traditional sense—no flashy shops, no big attractions, no hurry.
But that’s exactly the point. You sit on the porch. You watch boats roll by. You let time pass like the tide—slow, steady, and unbothered. That’s the ethos of Maine: Easy does it. Not lazy, not indifferent—just present. Maine culture honors stillness. It values observation.
It says, you don’t have to chase everything to live a full life.
It’s a sharp contrast to Montana’s energy, which I also love and admire. Ride or die — the unofficial creed of the Northern Rocky states. Big mountains, big risks, big effort – “Send It“. Whether you’re bombing down single track on a $3,000 bike or chasing the next adrenaline rush, you’re moving fast and aiming high.
But life can’t only be about the push. There have to be seasons of rest. Without recovery, effort becomes burnout. Without stillness, movement loses meaning. To be truly balanced, we need both. We need the days where we go hard—and the days where we allow ourselves to stop and just be.
Last night in Royal River Park, I saw two older men sitting on a bench beside the river. Their bikes weren’t top-of-the-line mountain rigs—they were simple, old-fashioned cruisers. No helmets. No high-tech gear. Just two friends, watching the water flow.
As we walked, we passed a group of parents with toddlers playing nearby while their older kids—pre-teen boys—fished in the river. Further down, an elderly woman moved slowly along the path with a walker, taking in the scene. Another quiet, local moment. Pure Maine.
These weren’t curated social media snapshots. These were real, everyday scenes. And they said something powerful without trying:
This pace is enough.
In a world that idolizes momentum, Maine offers something countercultural:
You don’t have to conquer every day.
Sometimes it’s enough to watch the light filter through the trees. To sit with your thoughts. To let the day unfold without forcing it.
That’s not weakness—it’s wisdom. Because seasons of rest give power to the seasons of action. Watching the river roll by is just as essential as swimming upstream.
So here’s to Maine. To porches and pine trees. To quiet river parks and old bikes. To being, not just doing. To balance. To ease.
