I recently had the pleasure of spending a night at a friend’s New Jersey beach house. As the evening wore on, I felt incredibly blessed to be in such good company so close to the ocean. I’ve always loved the sea and I’ve always loved my friends–having both together feels splurgy and indulgent in the best way possible. Trips to the beach are some of my happiest memories as a child and teenager. Smelling ocean air in the early evening light, sitting having cocktails with two of my friends, I noticed my own happiness. The moment felt incredibly poignant. I remembered all the evenings by the beach I had spent at my grandparents’ condo in Florida, sitting alone in the guest room, with the windows open, watching the moon over the ocean, feeling incredibly expectant, heavy in my skin, waiting for something to happen. Night after night, feeling both lonely and lucky, and waiting for my own life, instead of my life as a guest under my grandparents’ roof, to start. Thirty years later, sitting by the beach with dear friends I felt a strange peace and contentment. The moment I had waited for longingly, night after night, year after year under my grandparents’ roof had finally come. Or I had finally been wise enough to recognize I had all that I wanted for one brief shining night.
2 replies on “Longing”
I think sometimes that the “It Gets Better” project could have a longer reach – I think sometimes about my much younger self, feeling very trapped, and powerless, and waiting for my life to begin. I longed then to be able to see into my future, to know that someday, I’d have freedom, and lightness. You’ve captured those kinds of feelings beautifully here.
Thanks Sue, I have so much to say to my younger self! And it’s interesting how in the moment of my wish fulfillment, I also keenly felt my old longing inscribed in my bones.