The airport is a very intriguing place, am I right? People rushing and sprinting to get through security, some downing their fourth beer plagued with flight anxiety, a man across from me actually snoring… it shows an array of personalities, that’s for sure.
As I sit waiting to board my plane back home after a 48-hour trip to our family’s rental unit in Florida, I find myself looking around at people and wondering how they’ve lived their past two days. Me? I was scrubbing floors and baseboards, re-doing condo décor, re-stocking owner’s closets, and washing and taking count of rental towels and washcloths, all in an effort to prepare for the winter rental season. Exciting stuff, I know… and sadly, I didn’t hit the beach until thirty minutes prior to heading back to the airport this afternoon.
Did I mention it was also 50 degrees with high winds at said-beach?
I don’t like cold weather. And I really don’t like windy, cold weather. But I told myself I was going to take the time to eat at my favorite hole-in- the-wall beachside dive and then walk on the beach for at least thirty minutes, cold or not.
And lo and behold, Mother Nature didn’t disappoint…
The wind didn’t bother me today like it usually does. And the sun felt amazing on my face as I bawled like a baby walking along the water. The ocean always does that for me…pulls it out of me to clear and clarify me. So I’m not sure why I’m so surprised when the tears happen like that every time…
Maybe my emotion was appreciation for the group text my husband and I and our two girls were in and my oldest daughter’s funny remark about the “tanning bed-man-referee” who was overseeing her little sister’s basketball game on Saturday….
Maybe my emotion was based around the fact that my youngest girl had been struggling to find her footing after recently retiring from a 6-year gymnastics career….
Maybe I actually took full and deep breaths as I walked, something I don’t take time to do while working my regular life-load.
What I do know was there were a ton of broken, washed up seashells under my feet today.
For a moment I felt terrible knowing my footsteps were breaking them down even more. But then I stopped and sat my ass down in the cold sand for a bit.
Light-bulb moment/metaphor time/evolving thoughts ahead:
I work so hard at trying to fix the broken parts of me…and trying to teach my kids how to fix the broken parts of them. But there will always be broken parts to us no matter how many light-bulb moments we have (kinda like my grocery list that is ever-evolving even 5 minutes after leaving the store.)
My sweet daughter Kate…her back was literally broken from gymnastics. Her spirit was broken from friend issues at school. Her heart was broken when we had to put our dog, Jack, down. But even getting through those broke moments, she’s piling up more, just like we all are.
I guess the challenge for the broken parts we all have is what we decide to do with them (or NOT do with them.) When I hang on to those broken parts too tight, I leave indentions in my palms. And then I have a choice: Would it be easier to loosen my grip? Maybe so. Would it be beneficial to look at my palms’ indentions and see what has become a part of me? Possibly. Or you know what? Maybe it’s really ok to know that I’m broken and imperfect.
Deep thoughts, I know.
And tomorrow morning when I’m yelling at both my kids to get a move on, there’ll be more broken parts to deal with for us all.
But thankfully I have a household of broken folk that are willing to do this life with me.