Sometimes creativity doesn’t need noise; it needs a nap and a change of view.
That’s what I kept thinking during my two-week stay in Scarborough, Maine last August. I was there on a family vacation but worked remotely the entire time – business as usual, no big projects, no major stressors. Just the usual rhythm of meetings, strategy sessions, and campaign updates. But from the moment I stepped into our beach house in Pine Point, something in me shifted.
We were staying in a three-story home nestled right along the Nonesuch River. Most days, I worked from the top-floor balcony, where the view was a calm stretch of river winding toward the ocean. It was one of the most peaceful, beautiful setups I’ve ever had. The air was warm during the day, just cool enough for long sleeves at night. The kind of weather that makes you breathe a little deeper without even realizing it.
We were staying in a three-story home nestled right along the Nonesuch River. Most days, I worked from the top-floor balcony, where the view was a calm stretch of river winding toward the ocean. It was one of the most peaceful, beautiful setups I’ve ever had. The air was warm during the day, just cool enough for long sleeves at night. The kind of weather that makes you breathe a little deeper without even realizing it.
The quiet of Pine Point was its own kind of luxury – no traffic, no city noise, no rush. In the mornings, I had the house to myself before the little cousins woke up. I’d sip coffee in the stillness and watch the light slowly change over the water. Later, I’d break for lunch and walk along the beach barefoot, letting my brain stretch out in the salt air.
There wasn’t a big moment of realization or breakthrough idea while I was there. The shift happened the moment I arrived. I think that’s something people don’t talk about enough when they work in creative fields: if you don’t intentionally reset, you start to go numb. The monotony wears on you, not dramatically, but subtly. It makes you less curious, less present, less enthusiastic.
Scarborough didn’t spark a new marketing framework or some brilliant content idea. What it did was quieter but just as important. It helped me feel awake again. I showed up to meetings with more energy. I had space to think between tasks. My inner world wasn’t cluttered.
One weekend, we ferried over to Peaks Island and rented bikes that looked like they hadn’t been serviced in 40 years. They creaked with every pedal and rusted in all the wrong places, but it didn’t matter. We rode through pine-lined paths with ocean views on both sides, salty wind in our faces, and no real destination. The scent of seawater lingered everywhere. That ride felt like the physical version of what Scarborough did for me: imperfect, unpolished, but exactly what I needed.
Having grown up in Las Vegas, I always associated the beach with Southern California, but the Northeast? That was new. The culture, the pace, the accents – it all felt a little foreign. Scarborough, in particular, felt like a step back in time. Local coffee, small shops, sleepy streets. Less like a vacation town and more like the backdrop of a Hallmark movie.
I didn’t leave Scarborough with a new marketing plan. I didn’t need one. What I needed was exactly what I got: slower mornings, a different view, and the kind of quiet that lets your thoughts catch up to you. It reminded me that productivity isn’t always about doing more; it’s about making space for the part of you that does the creating.
