My daughter Emma has spent every summer vacation of her life in a house on the marsh in Wellfleet, Mass., on Cape Cod.

Before she was born, my first wife Paula and I spent most of our summers there. I wrote several of my books there and yearned to enter the literary culture that was once so strong in Cape Cod. For a while, I did.

I loved our summers and looked forward to them. My, how my world has changed.

I began to move away from my marriage and family there; I had little patience for sitting on the beach all day; I ended up spending most afternoons in Provincetown with my poet friend Keith; I helped sell art in his little gallery and got to know a lot of the artists.

I knew something was wrong but was too messed up to think clearly about it. We never discussed such things.

Sometimes, I rented a boat and sailed out to one of the harbor islands with lunch. I sat on the beach, almost always alone.

I realized one day that we were leading separate lives up there and back home. We went in different cars and spent our days apart.

Paula and Emma often played scrabble, game dyslexics dislike. They loved to read on the beach.

I was always pulled that way towards the artists’ life.

Provincetown had not yet become a refuge for the idle gay and straight rich. Lots of real artists could afford to summer there.

The town was full of artists, writers, and poets, and I felt at home with them. That was the life I wanted to live.

Paula and Emma would go to the beach all day; I’d write in the rented house or visit Keith and walk through Provincetown.

Emma still goes to Wellfleet, and she and her husband Jay and Robin vacation with Paula. Emma is lucky; she and her mother are close. That is a great gift to any child.

We had close friends. We often met there, but after the divorce, they avoided me, and I haven’t talked to them since.

This family tradition endures, even though I’m not a part of it. I remember walking the dunes with Emma and burying notes and treasures in the sand.

We’d go back every year to look for them.

I am happy and fulfilled in my new life, but the memories of Wellfleet sometimes haunt me. And Emma’s beautiful pictures bring me back.

It took me a long time to understand what was happening to me, and I a lot of pain and suffering for everyone when I did.

After the divorce, it stung to think of my family still without me; I missed many things about Cape Cod and my time with Emma.

But that feeling has faded, and I’m glad Emma and Robin get to continue this tradition with Emma’s mother, even though I still feel a pang or two when she tells me she’s going up again.

Emma senses this discomfort and makes a point to stay in touch with me when she’s there. But I no longer yearn for anything I don’t have.

I have everything that I need and ever wanted right here.

I don’t want to be gone from here for weeks every summer.

I doubt I will ever see Wellfleet again; it is not comfortable for me to visit there. Too many memories.

But there will always be a brief sadness when Emma goes up there on vacation.

Emma is more connected with me than I thought. She knows how I feel. I did what I had to do, but I am sorry for the trouble it caused.

She takes beautiful pictures there; her photos of Robin are touching and evocative. I think she and Robin will visit the dunes if they haven’t already.

The picture above, which came yesterday, was taken at the same beach where I buried treasures for Emma to find and where I taught her to swim. I still recognize it; it’s Robin’s beach now.

Life is a wheel; it just keeps turning. I keep turning with it. Is there any other choice?