This is a particular time of year. My workplace is closed for two full weeks, offering true freedom from the responsibility of checking in on things even while on vacation. I set the calendar for when this built in vacation will fall each summer (and Christmas), and usually take advantage of the fact that it's in the middle of everyone else's free summer to book travel and see my faraway family. The traditional summer visit goes way back, and carried the lightweight feelings of nostalgia and adventure until 2010 when the end of July took a hard turn toward grief. Since then, we've recaptured the easy appeal of a summer visit and maintained the practice as annually as a complicated life could allow.
The summer of 2016 was another turning point for me, and although I'm in a much better place a year later, my current unique living situation has, much to my chagrin, really messed up the timing for the possibility of a summer visit. I was in a funk about this as plans formed around two quick but tempting opportunities arose in which I could hang out with my sisters and my mom this summer, and the realization dawned that it was highly unlikely that I'd be able to go on either trip. It's not all woe is me, there's a big, fat, huge, shiny silver lining that runs along the western sky, but still, it's a bummer.
On a recent stupid day when I was feeling specifically bummed about all manor of things, I took myself down to the edge for some much needed horizon therapy. As Ellie said so well:
"It's true. Something about changing the shift of your vision, I sincerely believe. That endless horizon is just good for your brain to look at sometimes. Well, your brain, using its eyeballs."
It's true! It helps. Maybe it has something to do with this:
It sucks to not be with my peeps this weekend, but by next week I'll be able to show you my only little (temporary) slice of that silver lining.