Coastal Conversations

When our time was coming to an end in Okinawa, Brandon and I found our way back to some of our favorite spots. One day we spent driving through coastal roads on the north side of the island, basking in the sun in Brandon's tiny convertible and wishing the weather had always been as kind to us as it was on that October day. We stopped at the tiny hidden beach that we loved and left our all but dead bonsai tree in the sand as our mark on the island. We spent those final weeks revisiting all the spots we could that we knew we would miss dearly and scarfing every bit of food down that we knew we might never taste again. Our time in Okinawa was full of hardships but they were also full of beauty and experiences that we will never forget.

The day I most remember in those final weeks, was the day we revisited the small coastal lighthouse in Zanpa. This part of Okinawa is off of the East China Sea. It has ragged cliffs and dark menacing water that was in direct juxtaposition with the typical green clear white beaches that Okinawa is famous for. This piece of the earth suited our souls on this day. We were both feeling introspective and reminiscent about our time in Okinawa. We were ready to go, to leave the parts of us that had struggled so much in those three years and yet, not quite ready to leave behind the life we had created there. I think this will always be a feeling that follows us as we move from station to station throughout his career.

On this day, we walked along the path that winded through the cliffs. The wind tugged at my hair and I could feel the salty brine of the ocean on my skin. I tried to memorize the feeling knowing that we may never get to experience this beauty again.

As we walked, we found a cliff to perch on. A safe place to let our feet dangle as we looked over the expansive ocean, the waves hitting the cliffs in a rhythm that made leaving feel painful even when I was ready to go.

Together we sat. We talked about our three years there. The experiences both good and bad and our hopes and dreams for our future together. We talked for a long time staring over the ocean. It was one of those moments that make life feel meaningful and bigger than ourselves. It was a moment for reflection, contemplation, and connection.

I've written about my time in Okinawa so thoroughly throughout the years. I've written about it from a place of hurt and loneliness, I've written about it from a place of superficiality, I've written about it to make everything look picture perfect, I've written about it after the fact when I can see more clearly what I couldn't see when I was there, and here I am still writing about it. I'm writing about it because it was such an encompassing part of my coming of age and it will always be the big reckoning of my life. The time when I grew into who I am more than any other period of my life. It was the make it or break it moment of our marriage. All three years. The question nagged: Can we make it? Can I make it?

This day on the coast felt like a celebration and a funeral on the summit of our time there. We celebrated making it mostly in one piece. We celebrated loving one another still. I celebrated feeling more whole and purposeful than I did three years ago. We grieved the loss of a time in our lives that we would miss but wouldn't want back. I grieved for the girl I was when I stepped on that island but wasn't by the time I left. I grieved for the ease of our relationship and life pre-military knowing that it could never go back to that.

This coastal conversation will stay in my memory as we go on with our life. It will always be a reminder of our love and the best part of us together. It will be a reminder that beauty, sadness, and hope can all exist within one moment, one memory. That a moment in time can feel symbolic of a three-year-long experience. An experience that I may never get tired of writing about or reminiscing about because it is still very much a part of my story. And we must never get tired of telling our stories.

Little Brother

You were born my senior year of high school. At a time when some of my own classmates were having or already had babies, I was gaining a sibling for the first time in my life. Our relationship would never be exactly sibling-like in nature with the age difference and we would both grow up and be raised like only children. 

I remember being embarrassed that my Mom was pregnant with you. I suppose just because I was a teenager and we're always embarrassed about things like that. But I also remember talking about baby names and anticipating your arrival.

I remember the day you were born. My best friend at the time and half of our family stood in the waiting room waiting for your arrival. I was the first to go back to the delivery room. If Mom had had her way, I would have been there during delivery but it wasn't the place for me. I came back and there was still blood on the sheets. You were brand new to this world and screaming. I remember holding you and whispering my love to this tiny being that I didn't know yet. But I knew I would love you. 

Transitioning to a house with a baby was a bit difficult. Thank goodness I'm a heavy sleeper. Once Mom's maternity leave was over and I had finished school, I spent a week taking care of you. I remember crying as you screamed for hours asking you, "What do you want?" in a desperate voice. I remember rocking you to sleep singing "Never Grow Up" and I meant it. I meant it deeply. I wanted to keep you that little. 

But you did grow up all too quickly and before I knew it, it was your first birthday. You were so excited as you voraciously ate your cake. I remember the blue and red icing combined into purple on your face. I remember the sticky aftermath everywhere. 

You were a difficult baby and toddler and I was a young woman trying to find my own way. So I moved out but I was always there to come hang out with you, love you, or take you places when I got the chance. 

I resented you at times. It wasn't your fault but I was at that point in my life where I should have been having a better adult friendship with Mom but you were always there. And you were always into trouble, needing a scolding, or screaming in a store. It made it difficult to figure out how to be your sister and to forge a new relationship with Mom. 

I remember my wedding day. You were almost three years old and going to be my ring bearer. You threw a monstrous fit about wearing your bow tie. It's okay, you weren't the most annoying or most straining part of the day and your run down the aisle with the ring was cute and silly.

I remember the last Christmas I spent with you. I came over earlier than I normally would have just to see you. Just to see you run exuberantly into the quiet living room with snow on the trees outside and the twinkling white lights inside. Soon enough there was wrapping paper confetti everywhere and your happiness was contagious. It was a reminder that the joy of Christmas is made by children. 

And then we left for Okinawa. I said goodbye to you at the airport just like the rest of the family and I tried to hold the tears back like a lump in my throat as I thought about how much you would grow in three years. I wouldn't be there for birthdays and holidays. I would miss out on so much. You were so young. What if you forgot about me?

But Mom and Shayne wouldn't let you forget about me. We FaceTimed and I came home every year and I got to see how much you grew and changed year to year. Those times together were precious even when they were hard. 

And then we came back to the states and I met you and Mom and Shayne out in Colorado and New Mexico for vacation. You whined a lot. I think you're a homebody like me. I'm afraid I got annoyed too easily with your whining and said too much. It was still so good to see you and experience life with you again.

And a year later when I had to move home to finish school, you were this grown little person with your own quirks and personality. We got to reestablish a relationship together. You called me "sissy" all the time and it still makes my heart melt when you do. 

I'm hard on you. I don't let you get away with as much as your parents. I may say too much about your toy obsession but I only do it because I see the same mistakes Mom made with me being made with you. I see it a lot. But I also see that she's more gentle and kind with you than she was with me. She learned a lot after parenting me and I'm glad that you're getting pieces of her that I never got. 

You sit in my bedroom and love on Luna, work on math problems I give you, play prodigy, and read books. We color in coloring books on rainy days and draw with chalk on the sunny ones. Once the pool is open, I'll always be the one that goes outside with you. Sometimes I'll pay "sea monster" and sometimes I'll want to chill. Thanks for being happy either way. We go to the library and you stubbornly ignore my recommendations and choose your own. I hope you're always so determined to choose your own path in life. We get icees or ice cream and talk about bigfoot and pokemon. Oh, how you can talk my ear off about pokemon. You're always happy for a hug and an "I love you." You have such a big heart and I see the best parts of you. I hope they continue growing. 

And when it was time for me to leave, we both cried. You were my hardest goodbye. You still call me sissy. I asked you if you would always call me sissy, even when you were big and grown and you said "yes," like it wasn't a question worth thinking about. But I know that you're going to be a teenager soon and you'll be embarrassed by things like that. So I let the words "sissy" and "I love you" sink over me because I knew that in the not-so-far future, they might not come as willingly or easily. 

I remember bits and pieces of you, little brother, as you've flitted through my life. It's difficult knowing that I'll never get to be a constant in your life as you grow up. Those six months back home were a reminder to appreciate and love you whenever we get the chances to be together. And to keep remembering these pieces of you as you grow and change. 

Oh, darling don't you ever grow up. Don't you ever grow up. Just stay this little.

Days Like This

Isn't it interesting how one day we can feel like the laziest least productive hopeless version of ourselves and then wake up the next morning feeling hopeful, energized, and productive? The full range of human emotion amazes me sometimes. It never fits in with my perfect every day idealistic lifestyle that I try to achieve. It frustrates me that something is so easy one day and so damn difficult the next. It makes it so hard to be the ideal best version of myself.

Deep inside I know that there is no such thing as the ideal best version of myself but I spend so much of the time in my head thinking about future me and how she'll have her shit together. But human emotion, hormones, relationships, and life, in general, don't account for idealistic perfect versions of ourselves.

I'm waiting for the day when that really hits home for me. When I truly understand that I will never be perfect. I will always sometimes be the things I hate about myself and will always sometimes be the things I love about myself. That the human condition is to be the best and worst versions of ourselves. Cognitively I know that to be true but in the day-to-day application? I fail greatly. My heart is still holding out for the perfect version of myself to come true. To visualize my higher self and become her.

I'm not saying it's impossible to improve myself. But I do think that I need to stop visualizing perfection and maybe just visualize making life and day-to-day decisions as the best most magnanimous kind version of myself.

And hopefully, that best version of myself will have grace, kindness, and love for the worst version. Because that worst version is never going to fully go away.

And I need to learn to accept the imperfect self that will never be ideal. Maybe my highest self is the one that loves even the hard to love pieces of myself.

Child Free...By Choice

Being a woman isn't easy in this world. Being a mother would be even harder. I've spent my entire life loving and nurturing the children in my life but I've mostly felt an unsettling pit in my stomach when it came to being a mother myself. I'd think about the sacrifice, my perfectionism, the lack of sleep, and the way I see mothers interact in the world and with each other and I felt deeply that that was not my path in life. I wanted to be more than this little person's caretaker who would never love me the way that I would love them.

I get a lot of pushback from people who can't fathom a woman who chooses herself, her spouse, and their life together first. They believe to be a woman is to be a mother. And that is part of the reason I resist it so much. I never want to be someone that does something because it is expected of me. I never want to make decisions about my life because it is just what you do. I feel that so many people take the path of parenthood because it is what is expected not because it's actually what they want from their life. So many people just blindly follow the paths that their parents trekked before them never taking a moment to intentionally think about their own desires and life. It's biology, I suppose, this lack of intentionality. But it isn't for me.

I've thought through everything they tell me.

"You'll never know love if you don't have a child," an insulting phrase to any other relationship where the word love has been uttered. What about your spouse? The person you loved so much that you decided to create a life with. What about your parents? Your friends? Those loves are just as real and wonderful. I understand your love for your child is different and a strong bond but it isn't the only way to deep love.

"Who will take care of you when you're old?" Why do you assume your children will take care of you? Why would you create life just to saddle it with caring for you when you're old? A financially and emotionally taxing experience. There is such a thing as end of life care that childless people and parents should think of instead of laying that responsibility on your children.

"You'll change your mind." Maybe but how condescending of you to make that assumption for me. To assume I don't know what's best for me.

"Maybe you'll have an accident." Said by well-intentioned people who don't know my pro-choice beliefs. Even so, why would you wish something on me that I do not want? So I can resent my child and be unhappy with my life?

"What if you regret it later?" What if you regret having them? I've seen anonymous posts from parents discussing how much they love their children but they regret being a parent. Parenthood is the one decision in your life that you just can't take back. You can get divorced, quit your job, change your friends, move, or change everything about yourself if you really want. But you can't undo being a parent. So to answer your question, what if I regret it? Then I'll foster or adopt, I'll build relationships with my students or friend's children, or I'll sit with the regret and deal with it the way you might in moments where parenthood seemed too hard to go on. We all have regrets in our lives. We have to deal with them and move on.

"You'd be a great mom!" Yes, yes, I would. I have never doubted that I would make a great mom. I would care deeply about my child. I would work hard to connect and help my little person be the best version of themselves. I would care about their emotional, physical, academic, and spiritual health and help them along their own path. I would love them deeply. But at what cost to me? At what cost to my own passions, ambitions, relationships, and general quality of life? What about my own crushing despair when I fail my child? Because I will. I will fail in parenthood. Everyone does. And it will eat at me and I will spend my life feeling inadequate and broken. There is great joy in parenthood. I believe that. But there is also deep sorrow and loss as well. I'm not sure I can handle the roller coaster.

I've seen mothers talking to each other. I hear the comments that insinuate that their spouse does little to help with the children or the home. I've seen them trying to "beat" each other in their sacrifices they've made for their children. I've seen the competition, the judgment, and the circles under their eyes from lack of sleep and time to take care of themselves. I've seen them in group settings where nothing but childcare, sleep and eating habits, and discipline problems can be discussed. Even the good ones, the mothers that I would model myself after if I were to take the plunge, look harrowed and like a lesser version of themselves. It is no fault of their own. Raising little humans must be an exhausting and noble cause if you do it with all your intentionality. But this version of motherhood scares the living hell out of me. It scares me that I don't see many models of motherhood that allow women to be themselves and a mother.

Every woman who has strayed from the traditional path even the slightest knows these comments. They are said by family, strangers, acquaintances, and health-care providers. They are said without a thought about what I or any other woman might be going through or dealing with. They are said because they expect everyone to follow this path of parenthood and it scares people when we make choices that they don't understand.

Choosing not to have children isn't a personal attack on your choices. I don't hate children. I enjoy and love them in certain settings and probably won't turn down the opportunity to hold and love on your baby or toddler if given the choice. I'm not selfish although there are plenty of selfish reasons why I don't want to have children just as there are plenty of selfish reasons why you chose to have them. I've just made a different choice than you. Will that choice stick? Only time will tell. People change, evolve, and grow in different ways that expected. I am not immune to that. But for now, I think I am accepting this child free life and choice that Brandon and I have made. I just wish others would accept it too.

Change

Photo credit: Morgan Harper Nichols

Sometimes I think back on myself over the years and I cringe. I cringe at the ideology I used to believe in. I cringe at my toxic behavior because I was unhappy with myself. I cringe at the ways I wanted to show up in my life but didn't. The moments when my ideals were compromised by real life. 

 Why though?

All of those versions of myself got me where I am today. Maybe I'm a little behind where I "should" be in life but those shoulds can't be the path that everyone takes. All those versions of myself, the failures and the cringe-worthy behavior lead to me being me. And I am not the same person that I was ten, five, or even one year ago. 

I am darker in some ways. I have been disappointed and broken by life. And I am lighter in others. Letting go of the things and behaviors that did not serve me.

I know that for other people in my life, those changes are unappreciated. I no longer fit the mold that everyone thought that I should fit in. And although I wish those people could know me and whole-heartedly accept me for who I really am, I have learned not to let their opinions define me.

I still have a lot of work to do to become the best version of myself. I still need to put in the work and take the time to do the things that bring me joy even when they aren't easy. I can think of more than a dozen ways that I need to improve or work on myself. But the thing that has changed is that I can also think of more than a dozen things I truly and wonderfully love about myself. Imperfections and all. 

This is the year that I've done a lot of work to truly love myself. It's messy and hard and I fail frequently. But I'm learning to not dwell in self-hatred when I'm imperfect. I'm learning to love myself. That is the most beautiful change of all.