Rocks and Windows

The quality of the early morning light is obstructed by the storm coming in. Even the weathered locals don’t wander the shore this morning. I am totally alone with the roaring ocean. After running south to the twin rocks—to the beach that was beyond important to my preteen self I stand and watch the waves. The rain whipped by the wind has left me completely soaked and I can’t deny that I’m cold. But few things have ever felt as right as this does. The salty air tastes like joy and I inhale deeply, letting it reach down inside of me, wrapping its hand around any frustrations and throwing them away as I exhale.
The view of the rocks is beyond nostalgic. But my reaction isn’t to dive in to the memories; I don’t even watch their reflections. I know that they’re there, but they’re not so important anymore. The rocks don’t say “look at who you were” instead they sing “look at who you are, look at what you’ve done, see what you can do?” And I know. I am not average, already I have not had an average life, and I won’t. There are a lot of things I can’t do. I won’t be a doctor, I won’t find a cure for cancer, I won’t even direct a band. But I will do something that makes a difference. I will make the people who supported me proud; I will make you say “I knew her when…”
I know who I am. I do not know who I will be, but I know the type of path I want to follow and I look forward to when I meet that person. I look forward to when I get to introduce that person to the people I love and admire. But I’m not just spending my time watching that horizon, counting the times the sun sets behind it. I’m spending my time watching the ocean waves, breathing with the trees, smelling the rain. I’m spending my time writing in spiral notebooks, reading influential words and keeping current on what I’m passionate about (if I don’t know what has to be done, how can I ever make a difference?).
The sky grows darker and darker through the window panes. The Wilderness World of John Muir rests on my chest and I am warm in my sleeping bag. I can smell the perfumed aroma of someone showering. I can hear muffled laughter and TV from downstairs. Friendship so easy and honest that even I can’t undervalue it. Exactly what I worried I would never find. I will go downstairs and cook for us, we will eat and talk and play games. And now, in an rare occurrence, I am as content inside as I was out. These are the people who will let me go wherever I need to, and who will help me become as influential as I can.



For a sneak peak at something that makes my heart race: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2010/01/asian-wildlife/christy-text