Once upon a time, there lived, a little girl beside the Pacific shore. On cool autumnal mornings, the little girl greeted her by gazing upon the serenity of her horizon as she went off to school. Her steady horizon, like a sister, embraced her in a cloak of marine mist. Each looked forward to the warmer days spent together exploring the shallow pools in search of Striped Shore Crabs and the Giant Green Anemones dancing within her rhythmic tides. Slippery, tentacled treasures receiving their dappled moments of solar celebration.
In the passing of their seasons, the time they spent together waned. Her sister, the ocean, could feel the impending loss of innocence. Her heartbreak she plunged deep into murky beds of kelp, unnervingly, scattering the sea life beneath. The girl, leaving girlhood, felt the pull towards Spring meadows and the mountains in December. She turned her gaze further and further from her sister's tideline.
One bright, white-hot afternoon, out of her sinster’s despair, sprang waves, swelled with jealousy, fiercely tossing the girl. Believing the girl to be a worthy opponent, swept her into a wild current. Her sister pushed her down again and again, stealing precious air from her lungs. Frantically, over and over, the little girl kicked back in retaliation of her tempestuous tumult, to no avail, she surrendered. The ocean desperately sought to keep the little girl, her shore sister; forever.
It was on that day, I was rescued, not of my own accord. As I lay there gripping the warm sand, still heaving, a quiet clarity. To live is to leave, one's home, family, and familiarity. The seagulls swirling overhead called to me to fly away. I vowed to follow them as far as they permitted. It would be a few years more but I eventually made good on my promise.
Opportunity, in the form of youthful love, led me by its faithful hand, to discover a home surrounded by a verdant horizon. Upon arriving, those midwestern prairies, and wooded cathedrals sang their hymns to me beneath an everchanging choir of clustering clouds. It began a lifelong obsession, pushing my horizon ever further. I scattered my creative seeds along the path through journaling, photography, and learning to cultivate those seeds through dharmic practice. My new home was soon bursting with wildflowers of wonderment and acceptance. It was there, lying in the prairie grass, that I began to take root and blossom.
As the pandemic persisted taking its, once, unimaginable toll, on our lives; a hymn of reconciliation with the sea, began to rise above the bleak, solemn dirge. In those years, I cried an ocean's worth of tears. I surrendered my beloved family the aqueous embrace of my sister, the Pacific. Estranged, no longer. We began speaking with renewed fondness, each absolving the other's sins. Sharing tender whispers upon gently formed ripples I left in my paddle's wake. Once again, sharing cool morning conversations, a newfound respect and realization that despite growing apart, we hadn’t abandoned one another.
My sister, the ocean, would forever be to my West, and on this, I could rely. Her reliability revealed a purpose I had longed to embody. This enduringness, offered me peace of mind, gifting me a constant in our chaotic world. I, too, strive to gift this kind of peace. Creating constancy, a tranquil space for my clients to step away from all they cherish; with the knowledge I'm devoted to ensuring their home and furry family are safe, happy, and healthy upon their return.
It is true, I have a complicated relationship with the West because we are family. Like my favorite pair of jeans, forever stained, yet softly worn in all the right places. Every season, pleading its case. We share secrets, you and I. Your pockets may have a few holes, but you always have a quarter enduringly tucked into the hip pocket, when I’m desperate to call home.
Alejandro Escovedo’s music without fail, feels like home.
If you don’t know him, you should.
Thanks again for taking a joyride down to the seaside, please excuse the holiday traffic.