If Grace were a landscape, it'd be the beach.
Serene and calm, inviting and blue. A place to relax, to bask in it, to let it warm you and lull you into a peaceful sleep. I've had some of the best naps of my life on the beach. The warm sand, the gentle crashing waves, the balmy, temperate air.
The beach is where I go when I need to feel grounded. When things get overwhelming, I head to the beach, to look out across all that endless water. To remember how small and insignificant the things that loom over me can actually be.
Ever since my last post, I've been letting Grace marinate. When I was a child, my mother had the brilliant (please detect my sarcasm) idea of enrolling me in ballet. For about six months of my life and one highly embarrassing VHS tape, I was crammed into frilly pink tutus, my arms bent in front of me as if they were broken, plodding around on tiptoes in a musky dance studio on a military base. In my head, I thought I was graceful. It's what Lana, my dance teacher used to preach. She'd pace the wooden floor in her leotard, frizzy late 90s hair in a messy ponytail, she'd rapt the bar with a baton and bark, "Grace, girls, grace!"
Serene and calm, inviting and blue. A place to relax, to bask in it, to let it warm you and lull you into a peaceful sleep. I've had some of the best naps of my life on the beach. The warm sand, the gentle crashing waves, the balmy, temperate air.
The beach is where I go when I need to feel grounded. When things get overwhelming, I head to the beach, to look out across all that endless water. To remember how small and insignificant the things that loom over me can actually be.
Ever since my last post, I've been letting Grace marinate. When I was a child, my mother had the brilliant (please detect my sarcasm) idea of enrolling me in ballet. For about six months of my life and one highly embarrassing VHS tape, I was crammed into frilly pink tutus, my arms bent in front of me as if they were broken, plodding around on tiptoes in a musky dance studio on a military base. In my head, I thought I was graceful. It's what Lana, my dance teacher used to preach. She'd pace the wooden floor in her leotard, frizzy late 90s hair in a messy ponytail, she'd rapt the bar with a baton and bark, "Grace, girls, grace!"