Today I said goodbye to the Atlantic Ocean. I dip my toes in the cold water on this dreary day and hoped that I might get to come back soon.
It was only last year that we moved to the East Coast. It was a return for me and Nigel knew it. He knew how much I wanted to come back home so that when he was given moving orders he figured out how he could get me home. We weren’t married yet and it would be ages before he proposed but he wanted me move with him. He was determined, so determined that he was going to make sure that I would go.
Dipping my toes in the surf this morning, I couldn’t help but remember Nigel’s excited face illuminated through the magic of my iPhone. He was overseas doing that military thing he does and we were not planning on moving. We had only just begun the “this is forever” talk between the two of us. In an instant, we moved. We settled into the East Coast.
I had high hopes of spending summer hours in the sand under my umbrella reading books as I spent so many days while I was pastoring in Maine. Our home was only an hour from the shore. It seemed like it was possible, like it could happen but it never did. My sister planned my bachelorette party by the ocean and it rained that weekend. We managed to get our toes in the sand but the wind and the rain chased us off the beach sooner than I would have hoped. Same thing happened yesterday. I had planned one last silly night with my cousin in the ridiculousness of Atlantic City with the hopes of spending some time on the beach, but it rained. This time, it rained quite hard.
Tomorrow, after worship is over and some cake is shared, I’ll get in my car headed to the middle of America. Nigel has already settled there and eagerly awaiting my arrival and I’m eager to get there too. It’s been a long summer with too few beach days. It wasn’t the weather. It was me. I didn’t make the time. I made excuses about the traffic and the other things I should be doing. I didn’t allow myself to enjoy this thing that I love so much. Why do I do this to myself?
The beach is a place where my soul is restored. I am calmed by the sound of the waves. The silky pink sand of the East Coast is so familiar after having spent so many summers with my grandparents. It is a place of happy memories. It is place where my family still gathers so that even when I cannot be with them, it is a homecoming. I didn’t enjoy it enough. I wish I had because there is no ocean where I am moving. There may be a lake or two, but there are surely no oceans in the middle of America. I don’t know when we will move back to the East Coast or any coast, but I’d like to think that next time I’ll allow myself to enjoy this place that I love so much.
3 thoughts on “Leaving the East Coast”
Blessings as your travel and reunite.
Safe journey. As an Iowan born and raised I was hopelessly claustrophobic on the East Coast until I moved to the ocean (I can get there in ten minutes) In the middle of the country there is much horizon — may it nurture you and may you find in the lakes some sweet trouty sabbaths.
It’s so interesting to me what defines home for each of us. The close proximity to neighbors and everything is one of the things I love about the East Coast. It’s what makes it home. The wide open spaces make me nervous.
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