Our feet hit the sand, and we ran until our toes felt the washing of the waves. Giggling in excitement, we breathed in the heavy, humid air in loonnng, drawn out breaths. In, out. In, out.
Like the waves.
An oceanside summer. It took some time for me to adjust to breathing in so much humidity--at first it felt so oppressing. Like I was being suffocated, like I was trying to breathe through a thick, down pillow. But I soon didn't notice.
The sun was hot. I woke up at 4 AM every day to get some miles in before the sun rose. Even still, I came back with my long ponytail dripping and flicking sweat every which way. I finished every run by kicking off my shoes, dropping my watch, and collapsing into the cool ocean water once the resistance was too much for me to fight.
I read. They were summer reading assignments for my classes that year--The Hobbit and 1776. More often than not, I fell asleep in the process. To the steady, soft sound of the ocean waves in the background.
I probably didn't appreciate the opportunity as much as I could have. I certainly was convinced that it was of the utmost importance that I spend a significant amount of time inside, reading those books with the fans blasting in attempts to combat the stifling heat of the upstairs bedroom. I could have enjoyed the ocean a little more, I could have spent more time with my family. I could have done a lot of things differently.
Still, I look back on that vacation fondly. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, and I have many wonderful memories of sunrises reflecting off the temple window, Angel's shave ice, and walk after slow walk with my mom.
And I guess that's how life always is. Filled with moments that could have been better appreciated, but generally composed of memories that make it all worthwhile. It's like humidity, looking back. At first it's overwhelming. But as time goes on, you begin to find comfort in it. It becomes soothing. And before you know it, you don't even notice anymore.
Conference weekly talk found here.