Two years ago today, Chris and I rolled into Homer, Alaska to start the next chapter of our lives. Today, we’re sitting on the Carolina beach of our childhoods, reflecting on all of the years that brought us to this moment. It’s a wild series of events and also, not. Time is gentle and steady and true. I’m glad this is my story.
There is time on vacation to unsubscribe from emails I don’t read. There is time to watch a storm roll in and pass through. There is time to finish a novel and drink three cups of coffee. There is time to trace the lines on my husband’s face. There is time to read the news on my own terms. There is time to listen to a musical in its entirety and discuss its plot and implications days later with my children. There is time to choose who and what and how I want to be when I return to real life. There is time to acknowledge vacation is real life, too. There is time to lose track of time here, and plenty of time to find it again.
I take many, many photos I’ll never look at again. It’s been my reality for decades, for as long as photography has been digital. From my DSLR to my first iPhone, before and after my life on Instagram, with or without a reason to pose and post, my digital life is filled with moments I wanted to capture and return to, only to admit I almost never do. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop this practice, but at least nowadays I know I’ll have treasures to rediscover in the future, should my children be gunned down in their classrooms at the hands of a person my country was too selfish to stop. At least my photos are safe.
I watch my daughter dance on a floating dock, running back and forth to squeal from the deepest part of her being about baby birds in a nearby nest, wind blowing through her nightgown, and I know that this is all I’m guaranteed with her. Until her country cares more about her life than it does make-believe liberties and real-life profits, and even if it ever does, she will never be totally safe. There is beauty and freedom and terror in this moment.
Today I talked with my baby brother and my eldest son about what it takes to be a successful athlete. From boxing to UFC to professional basketball, we landed on one thing – mental toughness. Being unafraid to take a hit, being unwilling to give up… this is what sets greatness apart from talent. There is power in grit and sticking it out when everyone else won’t or can’t. I do not feel this toughness inside of myself, but maybe it’s there nonetheless. Perhaps it’s why I’ve loved a football coach’s quote since childhood.
The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather a lack of will.
Vincent T. Lombardi
Today I sat in the sand, and read a book, and ate snacks from a cooler bag, and got a terrible sunburn on my feet despite my best intentions, and built a drip castle for my Papa, and ate yummy seafood. It feels really good to be back in the beach house of my childhood, to experience it for myself and also through my children’s and husband’s eyes. Downright magical.
Just a few days ago, I stood in the Pacific Ocean and made new memories, like how to evaluate the tides and dig for clams. This evening, I reunited with the Atlantic Ocean and my childhood memories, which are filled with salt and warm sand and the sleep aide that is the sound of waves lapping at the dock beneath the bedrooms in our house on the inlet. I always feel my Papa with me at the sea, on both coasts, but there’s no doubt that his presence is extra strong on Topsail Island.
