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.