I'm standing in Seattle for the first time. To my back are skyscrapers galore, a hub of shopping, a congregation of man-made marvels. But before me are sailboats coasting and the late afternoon sun reflecting off glistening waters.
I never cease to be amazed at the effect vast miles of water has on me, and how I have always longed to live near it. Just like people, you don't realize the depth or worth of your devotion until you are absent from it, from them. I always feel that way after I'm back inland, in the landlocked state where I reside. So I'm savoring this now: a cloudless sky, mountains in the distance, the perfect breeze.
I have a precious moment alone here, with the family fanned out in various spots downtown. I love being alone. But my thoughts also turn to the people in my life with whom I would love to be standing. People I love both far and near would laugh with me at water's edge and--like me--freeze the image as only the mind's eye can. No photograph really captures the memory: rather, it's etched somewhere inside equidistant between head and heart.
I hesitated to come on this trip for a variety of reasons--and there is plenty of time left for me to tiptoe through the intricacies of family dynamics AND to enjoy one another without the trappings of the obligations and routine in daily life. Moments and sights like this can make worthwhile the journey.
I have a feeling they will have to drag me from the pier each day. That's fine.
"Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time." --John Lubbock
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