July 2023 – Page 3 – Picking Up Roots

Land’s End

With cool fingers the water rose up to meet his bare ankles. As he stepped further, it moved up his calves, undulating beneath his knees with the incoming tide.

The afternoon sun burned across the water in a fiery shimmer. He turned towards its warmth and shut his eyes.

He knew what was out past the island at the point of Land’s End: an endless canvas of blue possibility. He turned his head up to the sun and took a deep breath, exhaling it he melted into the water.

Everything fell from his shoulders: doubt’s constant nagging, his worry over his family, the upheaval happening at the office, the miles he’d traveled to get here. He felt light for the first time in months. The only thought that entered his brain was that if his feet weren’t held down by the water he might float away.

Happiness enveloped all of him in a warm embrace he had only known glimpses of in the past six months. His was a good life, but this was something else. He hadn’t had any idea he needed it. The car had entered the parking lot, and he’d been pulled toward the water line. Before he knew what was happening he was removing his shoes and socks and rolling up the pant legs of his jeans.

It felt so good. He felt connected. He belonged to this place. He heard nothing, but the gentle lapping of the waves upon the shore. He didn’t feel the eyes of the tourists staring in disbelief at this man up to his knees in the cold Atlantic in May.

He kept taking deep breaths. He wanted to soak it all in, make sure it reached the deepest parts of himself. He’d needed this feeling. He’d needed to come home.

Learning

holding on to the hurt
does nothing
but keep it alive;
allow it its moment -
keep it brief -
then move on,
so you might grow
from its experience
and it might fade
into its proper place
as a distant memory

When You’re Gone

With you gone, there is no point. That’s what we’re always looking for: some sort of point, or an angle at which this all makes sense. You were the North Star, for all of us.

You may not have known it. We sure as shit didn’t tell you as much as we should, if we did at all. It was always more likely that you felt more like a punching bag than a guiding light, but you were. The jokes and the jibes, it was love, because we didn’t know how to say it any other way.

Now, without you, it doesn’t feel like there’s much point to going forward. It’s difficult to find a new moral compass at this stage of life.

Of course, you wouldn’t want us to feel this way. You’d tell us you were proud of us and to do what was in our hearts. You’d tell us you weren’t worth the upset – worth stopping our lives for – but that’s not true. You were. You always were. We just never did, and now it’s too late.

This is a theme in our lives: we’re always too late. We are hyper-aware. We see everything. We know everything. We understand how all the pieces fit together. And we take it all for granted.

We appreciate what we have, but from 10,000 feet. We don’t get in close and talk about feelings, because we don’t know how. We’ve traded humanity for screentime and the one thing, in all our awareness that we don’t understand is how deep the regret – and the guilt – will cut when we lose a piece of us we’d taken for granted.

The words are so simple – they’re all one syllable:

I love you.

We love you.

We’re afraid to use them. Now it’s too late.