On The Road Again

I am on the road again, working to get The WIP ready for our September launch. The WIP is a journey that I can't quite put into words. Every stage has been facilitated by something outside of me. I feel like a footwork junkie—I just keep doing what I discover in front of me each day when I wake up, and little by little, high by high, building blocks are forming the foundation of something I believe is so important and meaningful.

I am on the road again, this time I'm not in the desert meeting presidential candidates with my good friend James, nor in Boston trying to get along with feminist journalists. This time I came home to Carmel to crunch the numbers and tighten the plan so it runs like an American car, you know the type. A car that is easy to change the oil or fix a tire. One with a standard transmission that makes sense when you drive it. There is no mystery as to how it moves forward or what to do when it's broken. I came home to make sure that, when The WIP is up and running, I can give my dream a real shot at coming true.

I did something I never do when I come home—I stopped by the beach and took a walk. It is the same beach we used to sneak off to in the middle of the school day when we went to Carmel High. It’s the same beach we spent sunsets howling at the sleepy sun as it descended behind the sea. It’s the same beach we cruised looking for surfers to gawk at and to dream about at nights in the privacy of our own thoughts. As I walked along the water, I remembered how the sand crunched, as white and as fine as Waikiki, and the salt and seaweed, like family, kissed my skin and perfumed my nostrils.

From the edge of the water I saw a girl, no more than six, fearlessly allowing her father to push her beyond the breaking Pacific. I saw her catch a wave for just a moment, riding it on her knees until she was toppled head first into a rip curl that ate her up. I wondered why it took me this long to become that fearless. I wondered if the little girl would always be so brave. I wondered if the benefits I unknowingly possess from my mother's generation have transcended into an even greater power for the younger generations behind mine. From underneath the white foam the little girl's head popped out of the water and she danced on her tiptoes back to the surfboard floating away. By the time she got to the board, her mother had come from the shore and plucked her up out of the water and into the shelter of her arms.

Comments

[Nicole]

Yes to reclaiming fearlessness!
Great line, "spent sunsets howling at the sleepy sun."

Carmel Beach

The waves twist and sigh.
The ocean is a body
anima. The fog kissed cypress
hums a mermaid song.

One minute, how the mist breaks
this beach has a veil over
kelp green pungent
and sand silk Avalon.

With the cawl of the earth
her finger hangs over “your”,
all of you. Sea-gull chatter.
Pine speak of salt. Otter abalone.

This is a place where the lip of land
meets potion. Your tongue is silenced
amid the ebb and roar. Grandeur
is the landscape. Fir and water.

She carries the sound of earth,
the ways to measure hearts.
She is a vast forgiving theater;
in this place, your pulse is with hers.

©NH