MY NOTE TO THE WORLD

I think my whole life I’ve been waiting to get somewhere I cannot reach. I’m on a brittle wood railing underneath a dock house that overlooks the entire beach below me. The wood has held bare feet, first kisses, fishing poles, and will be the setting for stories to be told in the future. I am waiting for the tide to change and the sun to fully rise, but it won’t. I continue to wait because I know it’s going to as the sky is a careful blue color yet it doesn’t seem to change with any time. 

What am I waiting for?? 

Wait for the sunrise!

They say, acting like elders that know more and are waiting to watch me experience change. I feel like it still has not come, or maybe I missed it, but I’m waiting. I hop down from the railing, dusting the sand from my hands before yawning. I’ve been waiting here for a while. Early morning birds scour the beach looking for forgotten food, shuttering their feathers. They remind me of the calm summer days that populated my childhood. These same birds saw me swing on playgrounds and lose teeth as years put muscle on my arms and inches on my body. Something about this brief moment makes me feel nostalgic. These beautiful creatures have watched my story play out from so early on. My small existence suddenly feels big when I think of the audience that has watched my life piece together.

I think from an early age we are asked to be ready. Go to middle school to get ready for high school. Go to high school to get into college. No time off. Go to college and know what you want to do and who you want to be. Sometimes I think that is setting me up to fail. How can I know who I am if my life until now has been moldable? My skeleton is made from a blueprint and my reflection has never felt like my face. I face a world at 18. I’m 18. 

Ocean waves hit the ground like hail in a hurry. This brings me back to the beach. I am leaning against the frail wood. Suddenly I hear muffled voices. Looking down the beach I see two people. They dance excitedly. They run down the beach and hold hands and then dig for sand crabs. What a young memory. 

I love this scene. I smile. They stay on their side of the beach, so far away that I can’t see the color of their eyes nor the shade of her hair as he tucks it behind her ear. I know they won’t come closer because they have seen the sunrise. They have watched the colors and seen the warm shades that I beg to see. I know Ares himself has painted the deep reds across the sky and given them what they were waiting for. I know they experienced the Sun. 

I hope to laugh and create background conversation for others in years to come. 

I hope I am not the future that makes turning 18 a daunting experience. I hope I offer legs of support to the generation of young and impressionable minds. 

Suddenly I see it. A slight shoot of orange mimics the couple on the beach, a dramatic grand jete that grabs all eyes beneath. 

It’s happening. 

I run grabbing at the air like I could rip the warm colors and put them in my pocket to keep the memory. 

This is what I was waiting for.