Sea Port

Last weekend,
I was reconnected with a part of myself long since unrecognized.

It was only as I approached the open water that I realized how long it had been since I visited the ocean. It spoke to me and I was enamored, enchanted. I wanted to be consumed and to float, free and weightless.

And yet, my worldly limits kept me timid. The enormous waves were choked with young teenage boys anxious to make the courageous fight. They swam out as far as they could make it and dove, head first, into the menacing waves just as they reached their largest form. They wore neon green and blue, tattoos and braids. They were proud of their dexterity.

Women and young children stayed on the shore, laughing, toppling, and yelping as the crests broke and foam washed over them. Noses were plugged and swimsuit wedgies swiftly picked after each crash. Laughter was everywhere. They wore ribbons and magenta, hoop earrings and smiles, children's bikinis and hair bobbles.

I felt suddenly young and awkward in my own form. I wondered at my hesitation. My friends lay on the beach soaking up the sun. I smiled in the crowd, wading and floating, lifting my toes and letting the salt water wash over my head, but never breaking the man barrier.

I thought of my trip to Utah the weeks preceding. I envisioned the aerial view I'd soaked in (not only of nyc harbor, but of the entire country) and saw myself now as a point in that enormous sky born landscape. Past the kelp, I knew the city buildings waited. I pictured the storms brewing out in the vast blue, manifesting itself here on shore. The sky was grey, the temperatures mild, the ocean energized, brimming full.

Driving home, I enjoyed the sun kissed, salty, windswept feeling forgotten from childhood vacations. My hair was wild with curls and my skin felt fresh. I kept the window down and enjoyed the smells, watching the landscape change, until finally we stepped out of the car on 42nd street in midtown manhattan.

The next day, I put on my adult shoes and attended two work events of almost diametrically opposed purposes: the Fancy Food Show, and the New Amsterdam Market. These experiences are more than I can write about. Every detail of my life and the lives of those around me percolated all week, trying to find its way to this space: subway experiences and neighbors, gardens and sewing, fresh flowers and new offices. But I couldn't listen and quiet the voices. Here I am now, evening approaching the day after Independence Day festivities.

Tomorrow I will be preparing cherry-ginger pie and bringing it to an afternoon house party at my dear friend's out in Bed-Stuy. They are special women who make craft and art out of each day. They weave life with thick threads of love, bits of trial, pieces of anger, confusion. And it is beauty. Meanwhile, I work each day to remember the grace and power of a smile.