“There’ll come a time in the future when I shan’t mind about this anymore, when I can look back and say quite peacefully and cheerfully how silly I was. No, no, I don’t want that time to come ever. I want to remember every minute…always, always to the end of my days.” — Brief Encounter, 1945
The tide goes out.
The cool water rushes away, and my feet are enveloped in dense sand.
I reach down and touch the ground. The waves’ ebb and flow have left gentle ripples, coursing endlessly across the expanse of beach.
As I run my fingers over the sand, I feel the weight of every living thing. The voices are peaceful and calming, and they soothe me. After a lifetime in the push and pull of the water, they have become sure of themselves.
I remember a time when I was aimless. Stumbling, unsure, weak on my legs like a turtle hatchling waddling out to sea. I was forever disoriented, blinded by loneliness and the torrential downpour of the uproar.
I’m still not quite sure how I found my way. My memories are blurred. I feel as if I have no recognition of who I was.
What I do know is that I have found a place here. Whatever it may be—coincidence, fate, choice, timing, or luck—this place has morphed into something familiar. It is a home.
It is never perfect, and it is always messy, but there is space and time for everyone. Here, I have danced. I have laughed; I have cried. In the lush light of finally seeing, I have come back to the world, full of hope.
Now, kneeling on the shore, I see the waves coming back, slowly yet steadily.
I am not ready for it. Have I exhausted everything in my heart? Have I done enough here, in the safety and joy, to justify going so far? Can I follow what’s out there, the deep-blue, beautiful horizon, a world away?
I know the answer is yes. In this haven we call The Central Trend, I have said yes. Over and over, it’s become easier and lighter with every intonation. Yes to falling in love, yes to crazy ideas, yes to collapsing over one another, foolish and folly, glowing and shining in the glee of each other’s company.
Three years was not enough, and I’ll miss these people and the scraps of myself I leave with them always. But the tide is already here, bold and bristling.
I brace myself for the impact. It will happen, it must happen, it’s happening—and suddenly, I am awash.
The wind in my hair, peace in my heart, gratitude pooling around me.
I look back as I always do. The ripples are faint, but they are there. They wink at me before they go, becoming one with the water.
The unknown beckons to me. It seems chilling and unfriendly, and at first, I am doubtful. But on closer glance, I see uncertainty has no place in its heart. Words of excitement and future flow from its fingertips and envelop me in their warmth, and I know that finally, I am free.
