We left for the beach even though the day was half over. I had been white washing dining room chairs all morning and seeking escape. The weather report on-line cautioned that this weekend would be one of the “last good ones left.” I realized that I was yet to go swimming in Lake Michigan this year. And suddenly, I felt rushed to enjoy the summer I had not experienced. My body longed to submerged itself in a body of water; to buoy my eagerness in earthliness would calm my seasonal anxiousness.
Breathlessly, I climbed the stairs that lined the dunes carrying our beach bag growing heavier with each step. The sky hung lower near the shore than it had in our backyard that morning. Our feet excavated the sand, hauling grains that had become wedged between our toes yards down the path. Sean squinted his left eye and trailed some steps behind me as I staked our position on the shore, which had shrunk from the season’s unpredictable and numerous storms. We remembered the wide shores from last May’s spring hike, and discussed how quickly the Earth changes from season to season as we spread our towels.
One chapter into “The Signature of All Things,” by Elizabeth Gilbert, I placed my novel in the bag and let my body gravitate towards the waters. Up to our hips in water, Sean asked if I was going to do it. I had to, of course. Diving head first into the baptismal cup, I felt peace rush upon me. I had found my happy place and I was thrilled to indulge in the instincts of my native Michigan being.