How far do you need to go, to touch the shores of the place you haven’t visited since childhood, a place at once magical and familiar? How far do you need to go to reach the spot where the waves crash over your head and you shriek in delight? How far do you need to go to walk along the beach, knowing full well that the tide will come back, even as it is drifting out now away?
We set out on a journey last week, one thousands miles round trip. We head out to Cape Cod for cousins week. I discovered many things along the way. For one, I discovered the fact that my car must really really love me. I know that it does because it kept going under impossible circumstances. When most cars would have given up, indignant at the mistreatment, mine kept moving forward. That kind of dedication can only be interpreted as love. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I also discovered that life really can be easy, even when challenges and obstacles present themselves. I discovered that I can be awake for large parts of the day and simply be and that it fills me, the way constant activity never quite does. I also noticed some habits I have, habits I thought I had once upon a time abandoned. I noticed how I eat for comfort. That sometimes I am fooled into thinking that a hole I feel in my heart might be in my stomach. But I noticed that if I sit with it, the hole just fills itself, the way sand fills in the voids on the beach.
But mostly, I sunk into the deliciousness of knowing that I have come to a place in my life, not yet sure I know it exactly or that I even know how to describe its differentness, but a place that feels more solid, more secure. Its waking up to the fact that I am not the person I was 4 years ago–or even 4 minutes ago. That I have healed in some ways, grown in others, and most excitedly that the adventure is just beginning. Its always beginning. With each new breath, a chance to begin again. And I am no longer afraid. Not of breakdowns, not of detours or delays. Not of the unknown.
Some might say that one thousand miles is a long way to go. Even with great music. One thousand miles is a long way to go only to arrive back home where you started, even if you are a bit more refreshed, a lot more yourself. One thousand miles is a long way to drive in a broke down car, summer beach traffic and heat but it was worth every minute. It always is.
So happy to have spent a week in the presence of my cousins, the ones who know me — the essence of me– and who love me the way no one else really ever could.
So happy to come home to myself, to my magical life right here.