We're back home. Back to the heat. Back to errands. Back to the crowded streets. Back to the noise.
Back in the rhythm of what we call home.
But Cape Cod has not left me. And it never will. Because from our incredible time there I was given a cape, the Cape of Cape Cod, that I can wear no matter where I am.
When I close my eyes and wrap the cape tightly around me, I am brought back. All my senses are so vivid and alive, fired by all the memories. I can hear the bay, the water swaying back and forth; the trees, gently blowing in the wind; the cicadas, chirping as they do day by day; the sound of the shower running down my back after a run; the hose on my feet brushing sand off after an evening walk; everyone's voice shouting spot it in unison; my dad's voice, sharing with me his experiences and stories; the sound of the tennis ball hit perfectly in the center of the racket; four voices in unison singing wildly to Sylvan Esso, Breathe and Exhale, Lorde; the melodies of the jazz as we all sit in tranquil content, the wind blowing on our faces as we look out the car window and watch the world go by; Philippe Starck and his French accent: tok tok tok! I can smell the fresh, clear air, that deliciously simple harmony of the ocean and the bay and the grass and the trees that all swirl together to create nature's aroma; I can smell the wafts of the delicious seafood cioppino that my dad is cooking in the kitchen. I can taste the salty water, the clear water, the juicy fruit popsicles- from Hatches, the crumbling brown sugar from the oatmeal raisin cookies, the delicate smoked bluefish, the perfect crispy edges of Lola's blueberry muffins. I can feel the silky water of each pond, the intricate shapes of shells on the beach, the prickly tips of Indian grass, the fishing rod in my hands, my fingers gripping the steering wheel of the car, my brother on my shoulders, my moms arms wrapped around me; I can feel my body unravel as the ocean picks me up and takes me on a roller coaster ride, a whirlwind of waves coming at me every which way, the beautiful white foam from the crests of the waves, that sensation of diving under the waves at White Crest and the spinning underwater that makes me giggle and smile and feel like a little child; the water rushing up over my feet during low tide; my feet on the foam of skim board, my legs bending as I spin and glide along the Sluce Way; my arms, moving one after the other, as I swim with my mom across each and every single pond; the boogie board as it soars me across the water. I can see the bay, the bay in between the trees that make a frame around it when you look from the backyard, the bay as the sun rises and the tide is stretched far, far out and oysters and mussels and clams fill the space of the sand, the bay as the grass sways on the sand in the glowing heat of the afternoon sun overlooking a marvelous body of sparkling salty water, the bay in the early evening as the sun is going down but still gifts us with it's lovely, comforting pastel colors, painting the sky with pale pinks and blues, the bay in the evening, the tide right up to the grass and the tide way out by the sandbars, the waves crashing and rumbling and the waves gently swinging back and forth, the bay that so gloriously lays under the marvelous sky with the innumerable stars shining so intensely, the moon that goes from a sliver to a circle each month, the bayside that is sunny and cloudy and and warm and chilly and clear and foggy, the bay that never stays the same, the bay that is always changing, the bay that reminds you that life isn't permanent and never will be, that each moment is special in itself, each moment is irreparable and irreplaceable, each moment is for us to enjoy for what it is because it will never be the same again, the bay that is free and unbounded and ever-changing and beautiful and wonderful and magnificent and incredible and where my family comes together and appreciates all these wonders.
All of these senses, these feelings, these memories, all rushing back, making me smile, making me cry, making me realize and remember how wonderful this earth is, this universe is, this world truly is.
I wrote this the night before I left Cape Cod:
It’s 12:01 am on Friday night (or Saturday morning) and we’re leaving Cape Cod tomorrow. I’ll write about the whole trip later but I just wanted to write a little right now and capture the immediate pleasure and satisfaction and joy that I’ve had with this trip. It’s been seriously, truly incredible. I don’t think there’s ever been a month of my life where I’ve learned more–about everything. About myself, about my interests, about the people around me, about my relationships with people, about how I think, about how the world works, about history, about the future, about art, about science, about design, about great people, about music, about food, about the stock market, about nature, about the moon, about the tides, about animals, ABOUT THIS INCREDIBLE WORLD! I’ve had so many feelings– I think I’ve had every feeling there is to have these past four weeks. There’ve been ups and downs and internal storms and battles against myself and swirling emotional tornadoes and hurricanes of feelings and just everything. But I feel good. I feel really good right now. I feel satisfied, content, so happy and thankful for an amazing summer. Very sad it’s coming to an end but endlessly grateful that it happened. Thank you, Cape Cod, for you. For everything you have to offer. For your beauty. For your wisdom. For your tranquility. For your life. For making me not only feel so alive but making me excited to be alive. Excited for this world. Excited for the future. Excited for me to grow more into me. Ready.
I will wear the Cape of Cape Cod forever. Writing this and remembering this makes me feel more confident for and at peace with all the new experiences to come, however nerve-wracking and intimidating and intense and new they may be. I feel so honored to have been giving this Cape, and it will never, ever leave me.