A promise of a new day

This weekend, mom and I loaded up a suitcase, hopped into her little silver Corolla and hit the highway, beach-bound. I've never made it a secret that there's no place on earth that gets me like the ocean. 

If I could bottle that salty sweet ocean smell and that feeling of both enormity and complete unimportance...I don't know. It's just incredible. I stand in front of the crashing waves and feel so completely overwhelmed by and connected to God that I sometimes can't even breathe. Long before I ever became a Christian, I felt that same overpowering emotion. I just didn't quite grasp what it was back in the days of pigtails and chalky white sunscreen faces. 

It wasn't a fancy weekend. No shopping trips or pedicures or spa pampering. I wouldn't have wanted any of that stuff. It was just a hole-in-the-wallish oceanfront hotel room, a couple of beach chairs, a thin, crappy beach umbrella that the sun laughed at (oh, did we burn through that umbrella!), some good wine, one incredible book and rounds and rounds of card games. 

I usually waste my time at the beach examining all the nearby houses and condos on Zillow, contemplating our next move and dreaming about what life will be like when every day ends with sand in my hair and sunkissed cheeks. But this weekend, armed with my new initiative, I decided to just enjoy the time we were given. I wasn't going to ruin it with that gross this-vacation-is-going-to-be-over-soon fog of depression that usually muddies any actual vacation enjoyment. I wasn't going to cruise around on Instagram and Facebook all weekend looking at other people's lives and missing my own. I even paused my work email and put it all to the back of my mind.

On our last day, I dragged myself out of bed freakishly early for a woman with four kids who had two mornings off, but I didn't care. I needed to watch the sun dance across the horizon, casting its light across the ripples of the ocean. A promise of a new day. And perhaps, a new me.

Slightly improved, at least.

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