Steady as a Preacher, Free as a Weed

The swell of the salty waves, cold, grey, and sparkling, against the clear blue sky beckons me in closer.  The cool sand gives as I walk pensively towards the ocean. I embrace the feeling of absolute abandon as I swim further and further into the water. It comes to the moment where it feels like Kate Chopin's Awakening, how far do I go?   When do I stop?  Do I give up here? Here?

Sitting alone on the beach reading gives a feeling of absolute solitude.  A quiet calm washes over me that is both breathtaking and frightening. The kind of quiet people are afraid of; that people fill their lives full of noise to escape from.  At the beach all the quiet crashes down and overwhelms.  I have a chance to really examine all of the waves crashing down all around me.

A shuttle, two whirlwind plane rides, and a twisting drive to the beach house left me wondering why I’d ever decided to travel to down the coast for Thanksgiving with the amount of work I have to do.  I was quickly handed a heaping plate full of food and a glass of wine and peppered with questions about my classes, friends, boyfriend prospects (none to speak of, thanks for asking), the weather, etc. After the initial round of questions, we settled into a rousing (albeit drunken) family game of Citadel, followed later by a trip down to the hot tub.

As the family slowly dispersed to their respective rooms, I began to realize why I agreed to this half-week of madness.  The screaming babies, prayers said in 3 different languages, too many glasses of wine, and midnight card games are just a handful of things I’m grateful for.  Life is changing so quickly all around me that sometimes I need things like the yearly Thanksgiving beach trip to remind me that certain things never change.  The babies will grow up and take their place playing Shanghai and before long it will be my turn to make the apple pies. 

For now though, I’m trying to enjoy the little things:  walking home after a shift at the Grind and looking at the stars, sitting on my bed with Dan listening to Pink Floyd, frigid fingers and toes, dancing to “Don’t Stop Me Now”, going to church alone Sunday mornings, so many bandaids, laughing with strangers in the airport, sitting in Starbucks with my daddy, taco dip, singing Airplanes with JKarp at College Park Landing.  Life is so very good. In a way that not one song, a phrase, a single feeling can encompass. It is like the feeling after a day on a boat that can only be described as having too much sun, wind, and salt water in your hair.  I’m incredibly blessed for all the beautiful people in my life that are right there beside me when I’m talking to my water bottle, hugging trees, face-planting on bricks, simply shaking their heads saying “oh, Lauren… not again…”