Ahh, my happy places…
Under a star strewn sky.
On a boat on the water.
Beaches, definitely beaches.
Near my son.
Empty nesting. That first Lifetime Achievement Milestone that tilts heavily, maybe predominantly to bittersweet. An eighteen year love project. Self-sufficient! “Go, fly!”
You adapt to the distancing. You find good worthy uses for your newfound time. You fill that heart-shaped hole. You’re okay, you’re even happy.
Your life is full.
But it’s hard to dodge that nagging feeling: nothing in your life will ever mean so much.
Your life is full. But when he comes home your heart is full. His room – door shut but occupied again – is your new happy place. Your heart is full.
Some of my first memories are the beach. Warm waves jostling… Sand castles (can’t go home without leaving a monument). Throughout my life, many happy places, but the beach always tops.
Beach with the kid: some of my happiest of happy places. A peak memory: frisbee, football and bumping a volleyball all in the first 45 minutes. Then a leisurely (but massive) castle.
The beach is different now, me being old and all. No more running all over for a football. Little frisbee or volleyball. Some occasional body surfing. A rare sand castle and moat.
But it’s still the beach. The sand. The long blue to the horizon. The welcome relentless psyche-burrowing sound of the surf.
That’s still there. It will always be there.
It will always be the beach.
Our visits now may just be sitting in the sand, quietly… But he’s near. I'm home. And my heart is, again, full.