Grandma and Grandpa dropped Damon and I off at the airport (and cackled all the way home). I didn't have a chance to triple check my children's food for the week—or their activities—or their homework—or everything else that I wanted to obsess over. It was the first time we left our youngest. We’ve tag teamed our business trips instead of leaving together.
But Grandma and Grandpa destroyed every excuse. Every. Single. One.
It took twenty hours of travel and a promise to let go (I can let go—I swear I can, I just have to make sure that everything is okay. And then double check that things are okay...and then I can let go. Almost).
The British Virgin Islands had an entirely different agenda. There was warm, wonderful sun and soft, tempting sand. For once, having a disorder was to my benefit. I have a sensitivity to light, without the sun I struggle to balance the moods—with the heavy rays of the Caribbean I could think clearer. Faster.
The longer I stayed, the more calm I became. I stopped picking at my nails and checking my phone (forgetting it altogether). Waist deep in the ocean, I had an epiphany on my novel. It was completed several times but I’ve hated the ending(s). It took thousands of miles before I could feel confident enough to go with my gut, and close my story with my original vision.
Unfortunately, it’s not easy for someone like me to be saturated with sun and then suffer withdrawals. But today, I received the rest of the pictures from our trip and I remember the beauty of letting go—and how sometimes when we let go, we’re given a little miracle.