Arrivals & Departures

I did not think the word “relaxing” could be synonymous with “family vacation,” but this year proved it possible. Normally, there is squabbling, something goes wrong, and someone gets hangry. This year, we had a tiny bit of squabbling, and one big hanger event. Otherwise, it was chill.

We swam in the ocean, walked barefoot in the grass, ate tons of ice cream, and bought souvenirs. Some of us rode horses. Some of us rode bikes. Some of us were relieved to find we could reliably charge our car at the library. And one of us made enough money with her lemonade stand to buy a $50 pair of earrings!

Most memorable was the night we drove to a private beach. There, we wended our way through dune grass toward the sound of the surf, spread out a sheet and lay down. In the city, you see only the brightest stars. Here, against the dark quilt of night, we were able to see much more. Satellites spun through space. Airplanes cruised by. We found the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt, and the Twins. And a meteor ripped into the atmosphere, leaving a trail of stardust. It was hard to leave the beach that night.

And it’s been hard to come home. Normally, I’m happy to get back into my routine. But this time, I relaxed so much that it’s hard to return to everyday life. I keep thinking of the cemetery in this beach community where I like to go for walks.

Normally, I don't like walking in graveyards. These inspire thoughts I’d rather not entertain—of dank crypts and rot, and my own mortality. But there, wandering on sandy paths among the tombstones, under the wide blue sky, the reminders of mortality are subsumed by the blazing sun and the gritty, sparkling reminder of the endless tides. I am reminded that my time on earth is limited, but I am part of something greater. More infinite.