As I write this, I am preparing to go on a ski trip. I know, right? Tough life. But my parents took me skiing when I was a kid, and my husband and I have chosen to continue the tradition with our own children, even though we live ten hours from the closest mountains (unless you consider a landfill a mountain, which, well, those of us in Florida kind of do), and even further from the closest, ski-able mountains.
But we are going to make the sixteen-hour trek because it is tradition, and it is fun, and I want my children to see the mountains. Because, like my parents before me, we have chosen to raise our children on the edge of the water, and I think it is important for them to feel small on top of a mountain, to know that there are places in the world where the horizons are filled with things that are so much bigger than themselves.
But when all is said and done, I am an edge-of-the-water girl. I’m not a city girl, thrilled and fulfilled by the hum of tires and a million different accents; I am not a farm girl, soothed by the fact that the land around me can not only feed my family but thousands of other people as well; I’m not a suburb girl, in my comfortable, friendly neighborhood with easy access to all the city can offer. I’m not a small-town girl, where everyone knows my name and that of my parents. I’m not even an ocean-going girl, one who prefers to be out of sight of land and all that goes with it.
I like standing on the edge of the water, with the comforting bulk of all that I know at my back, and the wide-open horizon before me. I like the way that the water throws diamonds into my eyes and splashes into my soul. When I look out over the water, I thrill at the fathoms yet to be discovered and the unpredictability and beauty each day brings.
So we will go to the mountains, and feel dwarfed by the beauty and majesty of geology caught in a snapshot of time, but I will breathe a sigh of relief when we return to the safety of our home surrounded by the restless, every-changing turquoise waves.
What kind of person are you?
But we are going to make the sixteen-hour trek because it is tradition, and it is fun, and I want my children to see the mountains. Because, like my parents before me, we have chosen to raise our children on the edge of the water, and I think it is important for them to feel small on top of a mountain, to know that there are places in the world where the horizons are filled with things that are so much bigger than themselves.
But when all is said and done, I am an edge-of-the-water girl. I’m not a city girl, thrilled and fulfilled by the hum of tires and a million different accents; I am not a farm girl, soothed by the fact that the land around me can not only feed my family but thousands of other people as well; I’m not a suburb girl, in my comfortable, friendly neighborhood with easy access to all the city can offer. I’m not a small-town girl, where everyone knows my name and that of my parents. I’m not even an ocean-going girl, one who prefers to be out of sight of land and all that goes with it.
I like standing on the edge of the water, with the comforting bulk of all that I know at my back, and the wide-open horizon before me. I like the way that the water throws diamonds into my eyes and splashes into my soul. When I look out over the water, I thrill at the fathoms yet to be discovered and the unpredictability and beauty each day brings.
So we will go to the mountains, and feel dwarfed by the beauty and majesty of geology caught in a snapshot of time, but I will breathe a sigh of relief when we return to the safety of our home surrounded by the restless, every-changing turquoise waves.
What kind of person are you?
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