Marcum musings on life as an expat: There's Something About a Beach

Carolina Moon

va·ca·tion

vāˈkāSH(ə)n,vəˈkāSH(ə)n/

noun

1.
NORTH AMERICAN

an extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.

"he took a vacation in the south of France"

synonyms: break, time off, recess, leave, leave of absence, furlough, sabbatical,spring break
2.

the action of leaving something one previously occupied.

"his marriage was the reason for the vacation of his fellowship"

We've just returned from two weeks of vacation. I realize I've used the word vacation for my entire life without really asking its formal definition. I love words, and today I remedied my naivete and my imagination was sparkled by the clinical way in which Google defines va-ca-tion. The first definition above describes my head space for these near 40 years, but the second definition - it gets to the heart of these two weeks. Our "extended period of recreation...away from home...in traveling" worked out, in reality, to be a literal tour of homes - where we "actively left something [we] previously occupied". Upon leaving our Vancouver home, we traveled to the home of my teenage years, the second home of our marriage, Henry's childhood home, Lydia's birthplace, the current home of my parents and sister. We visited with Philip's parents and gave our roots space to stretch and dig deeper into the land of their planting. We traveled from Vancouver, our home in every way right now, and returned to family and all things familiar - greeting them in a new way. For the first time since our move I felt the chapter of our family's life in Clemson is tangibly closed - it's bittersweet. South Carolina is forever our home and there's no question of the firm foundation of our roots in that place, but I realize today that our roots have compelled us to test our wings and see where they may carry us. I'm grateful. I'm also aware of what the term 'has-been' feels like - that's what we are - life has moved on, as it should; while Clemson is part of our story and we'll always be part of its, we're old news. It's not a bad thing - we are living in our present, not confined to but shaped by our past. This notion of living in the moment is hard for me as I'm always planning toward what's next, robbing myself of the treasure of embracing the right now. In Vancouver, we don't know what's next - at all. And so I'm forced to focus on the right now; a cosmic reminder that I'm hard headed.

Boating with cousins/friends on Lake Hartwell with Clemson's Death Valley in the background

Loving on Nana

We left Clemson and traveled the familiar route to Charleston, South Carolina - the home of Philip's university experience, the home where we met, the first home of our marriage and Henry's birthplace. The roads were familiar, we visited old favorites, we reconnected with friends with whom we've stayed in touch since we lived there 15+ years ago. Our home for the week was the beach - Folly Beach [its very name forcing us to let go of our own seriousness]. There's something about a beach; its constant seabreeze has a way of muting cell phones, busy minds and the frenetic. Rhythmic waves create a conscious hypnosis while heavy salt air makes naps a necessity and makes anxieties disappear. Fine sand serves to exfoliate the soul - gently removing attachments to anything not life-giving and smoothing any edges that have become too sharp. We shared our week with people who mean the most to us - parents, siblings, cousins and longtime friends. Television lost its allure in comparison to the ocean, storytelling and game nights. Emails ceased to have a voice. Stars seemed brighter and the moon was full. Living was the focus.

Folly on Folly Beach

We rode by the house where brought Henry home from the hospital and were happy to see that it still looked like a home. It's clearly loved. We went back to Philip's alma mater and he shared stories of his life before any of us had come into it. We explored downtown Charleston and listened as our stories there intermingled with stories of revolutionaries from eras past. We celebrated the gifts of forgiveness and grace born of recent tragedy as we paid our respects at the Mother Imanuel AME Church - our souls were nourished by voices we never personally heard. We reconnected with people whose voices are interwoven with our own. We woke up each morning in the presence of three generations - generations connecting families who had never previously intermingled until some serendipitous meeting led to marriages, children and a story being written still. Serendipity drove the agenda. Lydia reconnected with friends she'd had since birth - they played in the salty water and the sand, picking up where they'd left off two years ago. We sat under umbrellas eating fried shrimp and hushpuppies; laughing about common experiences and telling tales of times long past while toasting one another and our stories. It was holy communion at its finest.

Visiting The Citadel

Because who doesn't want to chat with a giant frog?

Old friends reconnecting on the beach

Fun times with Daddy

Cooking dinner with Uncle Rich and Trey

Uno after Aunt Em curled her hair - ooh la la

Apples to Apples with Mimi

Poker - Papa taught us :)

Even being in a dungeon doesn't dim the smiles of being together

Signing the Declaration of Independence at The Old Exchange Building and Provost Dungeon

Exploring the USS Yorktown

Last Night at the Beach - dinner at Bowen's Island

Saturday led us back to Clemson by another way - circuitously following two lane, country roads as the interstate transformed into a parking lot. Little southern towns beckoned us to stop in their rural gas stations and enjoy their boiled peanuts, their sweet tea. We obliged. And so began farewells - farewell to the beach where we'd sought refuge to let go so we could get a better hold. We said goodbye to Philip, sending him back to Vancouver. We enjoyed visits, tho they were all too brief, with dear friends from every piece of our lives. We caught up feverishly, feeling the pressure only time can exert. And then we said goodbye again. All too soon the time came for the kids and me to return to Vancouver - vacation coming to an end. On the 4.5 hour leg of the plane ride back I watched The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Maggie Smith's character captured my thoughts precisely, "There is no such thing as an ending; just a place where you leave the story". And it occurred to me we had our intent backwards all along. We had gone to the beach to temporarily let go so we could get a better hold on life, but in reality, we got a lot better hold through the act of letting go - allowing our story to turn the page without keeping our fingers in the pages we've already read/written. Our life as a family is richer in Vancouver because we've left the story in Charleston and Clemson, accepting that we now make guest appearances in those places. Home, as it turns out, is transient for our family - ripe with emotions, ripe with relationships. One day we will vacate the story of Vancouver for yet another home - our story richer for our time here among those whom we hold dear in this place.