To Sea: Feet & Hope in the Surf

Most places I go these days are places I have never been, but are, nonetheless, familiar in their character. However, this latest stop feels monumental to me.

I wasn’t really aware of where I was at first. I was just driving to the next town and the next space in which to park Blanche & Betty.

I decided to check the weather report when I arrived and in so doing realized I am minutes from the eastern coast of the United States. I suppose, in my head, I had placed this region along the Gulf Coast. In my perception, the idea of crossing four states and going “only” 1050 miles vs the 900 miles I drove from Houston to New Mexico, had taken so long and been so piecemeal and cautious that I’d lost track of where I was going. I was so busy connecting dots, I lost sight of the big picture.

What an odd sensation to wake up (mentally) and realize you have gone from one coast (albeit the middle coast) to another coast rather haphazardly and unwittingly.

“Haphazardly,” because during the winter months, I had the luxury of driving and just stumbling on a place to stay without putting much thought into it (that has evaporated with spring break and the summer months ahead).

“Unwittingly,” because my mind has been so preoccupied with grief and depression and love that I neglected to be fully aware of my surroundings much of the time. In the last park I was largely in an emotional fog that was punctured only occasionally by calls from family and a friend.

This coastal RV resort is crowded, snugly packed, heavily canopied with trees, too close to a significant road (although that has grown quieter as night wears on), and full of other dogs to keep Sammy in a constant state of crazy.

Still, I feel like I’ve come to life for a moment, hopefully several moments. I want to work. I want to breathe and accomplish things. Two days ago, I didn’t care if I didn’t wake up at all much less metaphorically.

Nothing has changed. I’ve had no grand revelations. I don’t feel any different about my skill set, my desire for companionship (or lack thereof), nor my relationships as they stand. Dog is still a huge pain in the backside when he sees other dogs. I still have repairs to make to Blanche that can’t be made immediately. I still have allergies kicking my ass. My heart is still tangled.

But I feel—

What’s the word?

Hopeful?

Perhaps it’s the bustle around me. People doing things and living and not just on the road to doing or sitting out at a campfire (perfectly fine things to do, mind you). This is a park full of short and long-timers and the long-timers make it feel like home with potted plants and dog pens. There’s a strange comfort in that.

It could be just the Atlantic Ocean whispering to me from a few miles away. Perhaps the very thought that I can drive just a little while and put feet in salt water again, different salt water, and say, “I am here. I made it. I didn’t crumble between there and here, though it got damn close. Yay, me!”

Pier on a Georgia Beach

9 thoughts on “To Sea: Feet & Hope in the Surf

  1. Peter Heiss

    I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed—no, loved—reading this latest entry of yours, my friend. Hope, indeed—and a (re?)awakening to something just maybe bigger and brighter for you. Well-done, Lee (and Sammy and Betty and of course who/what made it all possible, Blanche).
    🌞
    Whether unwittingly or purely by happenstance, it sounds like you have found new energy, enlightenment, and vision in your travels—which, I’m guessing, was hopefully the intended point. Let’s hope that your image of a Georgia pier is the bridge to something new and exciting for you…
    🌊

    Reply
  2. Anne-Sophie

    Thank you for sharing that beautiful post, as usual, your pictures are “spot on” (every time I read that I give myself a proper British accent). You have an eye for perspective, light and mood, a true photographer (draw in pictures).

    Being landlocked for a decade, in fly over country, I can assure you that the seas and the mountains have healing powers. Forests do to and the pictures on your previous posts testify to that. This used to be the first paragraph but I found it too snarky (written before breakfast).

    Sammy might be able to slowly learn socialization.When it comes to dogs, the only person, I feel, knows what she is taliking about is Victoria Stilwell, https://positively.com/dog-behavior/basic-cues/

    Why did the WP gave me the chartreuse icon, while Peter got the purple/dark blue? You know me with my cool colors. 🙂
    I think it alternates between cool and warm colors icons.

    Reply
    1. Lee Ellis Post author

      Thank you for the kind words. May be a family thing; my niece and daughter each have a better eye, IMO. I try, though.

      I love that you mentioned the forests and mountains. I have a whole post in work just about the trees. I may save it for the manuscript, though. Can’t decide.

      Hadn’t noticed the icons. Don’t know. Sending warm regards.

      Reply
  3. Anne-Sophie

    My feeling about the trees’ piece, keep it for the manuscript. You can send it via snail or email, or FPN messenger, for feedback, if you wish.

    You photos are wonderful and it is great to know that it is a gift shared by your family members.

    I was just kidding about the color icons. Being able to communicate on each post, is wonderful.

    So I decided to overcome posting shyness in order to share my admiration.

    Reply
  4. Anne-Sophie

    Yes, I didn’t know you could see it! Of course, use it and we can communicate that way. So exiting!

    Reply
  5. Maria

    Love this…all the sky and water, and the healing that comes to us when we see hope manifested in our ecology, in the hustle and bustle of a community just breathing and living. I can never detach myself from nature. It’s my home, and there you are, sinking your toes in the comfort of it. Enjoy!

    Reply

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