General

May’s Possibility

There’s something profound about the change of seasons. It’s just in the nick of time a wave of excitement sweeps across the land and my being. All I see is newness and possibility; rebirth.

Last night I walked the docks of the marina with my mom. It was perfect, not too hot, not too cold, no wind other than a slight bay breeze rippling across the water; boat lights shimmering across the surface. Faint chatter and melodies from the marina’s restaurant reached our ears as we took it all in.

“Some people miss this. They just don’t see what we see,” mom said, clearly referencing my sister and my dad.

Mom and I have naturally appreciative, receptive personas. We’re completely self-aware, soaking up our surroundings and savoring moments. We not only find satisfaction in the seemingly insignificant things, we see them as immense peace and we’re eternally grateful for things some people might not even notice.

For me, I remembered walking those docks as a kid and the memories flooded back. The aroma of fudge from the shop in Chesapeake City, playing with my Star Wars action figures on the little shore beside the docks, the sight of anchors and crab traps and that red, white, black and yellow flag of the state of Maryland. I love the fact that we can walk down the road along the bay and reach what’s now my parents house; a dream of theirs fulfilled and a vast difference from my childhood home in suburban Philly.

We talk about all the changes happening — my sister moving back from Nashville, a whole bunch of new friendships that suddenly sprung up in my life back at the Jersey Shore, the potential of things to come, new visions, potential relationships, entertaining the idea of investing in a house, old friendships reborn, new trips on the horizon… everything seems fresh, crisp, and ready for newness.

Winter’s end at last quells my perpetual wanderlust knowing after work I’m going to drop my things and hit the beach, cruise the boardwalk on my bike, spend my weekends in my coastal city dancing the night away at 90s nights, sitting around beach bonfires and movies, night swims, concerts, and toasting drinks on the rooftop of the Biergarten with the many, many new friends I’ve been so blessed with as of late.

This light-spirited feeling of relief and giddiness can’t be contained, and I’m taking it all in, soaking up every second, excited to actually stay put and revel in the two amazing places my parents and I have the privilege of living. And there’s really nowhere else I’d rather be, because what’s summer without the winter to give it sweetness? People who live in a perpetual season never get to experience this matchless euphoria, this indescribable sense where anything and everything seems possible.

impractical daydreamer | journalist | creative writer | photographer | blogger | hopeless romantic | world nomad | truth seeker | perpetual adventurer

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