February 2020: This Is What It Looks Like

This is a story I heard a few years ago, the kind of story that gets passed around. As I remember it, a woman (who I think is named Gemma) told the story to a group of people, and one of those people told my friend Justin, and Justin told it to me. 

It’s a story about the beach. Gemma and her kids were going to the beach one day, and her son was so excited. As they got out their swimsuits he asked when they would be at the beach, and his mom told him that they were getting ready. Then they put on sunscreen and he asked again if they could get going, and she told him that the sunscreen was important but soon they’d be there. Then she made some sandwiches for them to take with them, and her son got impatient, asking once more why it was taking so long for them to go to the beach. At this moment his mom looked at him and said, “This is what going to the beach looks like. This is it.”

I thought about this falling asleep last night, another Friday in winter when I tumble into bed, tired and anxious for the future. I keep telling myself that once we leave New York, or once I finish writing this book, or once I make enough to write full time, or once we own a home, or once we’re married, or once Emily finishes grad school, or once I make more money, or once I lose 15 pounds, or once I win an award or an accolade or a something - then. Then things will be good. Then I will be married, or then I will be real, or then we will have space, or then I will actually be a writer. 

But this is it. This is what being a writer looks like. This is where we live right now. This is what marriage is. It looks like the bed at the end of the week. It looks like hunching over a printed manuscript on my lunch break and making edits. It looks like whatever failures or missed opportunities have already come and gone. I’m so desperate some days to get to the beach that I forget: this is what going to the beach looks like.

If I’m honest: today was a struggle. What’s more frightening than sitting still with myself and being left with today, with my own self, a little bruised and tender and so hard on herself? I keep busy so I don’t have to spend time with her, my deepest self. She makes me so uncomfortable. But this is what it looks like. I’m trying to keep that perspective.

xo,

c