Rodanthe, NC – May 18, 2013
I sat for hours on a thin beach waiting for the sun to rise and dry out my clothes. I needed to feel it for my sanity. Not drying from wet to damp, but dry to where every hint of water evaporates and the fabric feels stiff with salt.
I sat and stared at Pamlico Sound imagining how far I’d have to drag the boat into the water before it would float. Thirty feet. A quarter mile. Half. Even a few inches, just off the sand to the water’s edge, sounded exhausting and I felt foolish.
The sound, Cape Hatteras, they’d never promised me anything. I’d just looked at a map and dreamed up a place in my head. I made up stories about how it would be and expected them to come true.
Now I needed to let that go. I needed to adapt to the shallow water, to the effort of pulling a boat across hidden banks. I needed to drag expectations closer to reality and make peace with the difference.
I sat and dried in the sun, staring at the sound until walking a half mile out didn’t feel impossible. Then I grabbed the boat and pulled.