Words. So many words.

Words allow me to hash out my thoughts. Words connect and bridge and formulate and meld. Words are the cars upon the tracks of a roller coaster. Words are the peak of each wave, crashing upon the shore. Words are juice. Words are inspiration. Words are passion. Words have been my craft, my profession, my teaching, my sculpting.

Memories.

"CLICK". We remember. We collect memories and we journey through our days among the backdrop of these moments. Some end up being the hinge upon which our life swings. We cannot always control our memories. Sometimes we try to recall those specific moments, to no avail. And sometimes they come rushing back, unannounced, with a passing aroma or background song, we are left to grip each one like the rung of a listing ladder.

These words swell in my heart. The full human experience. There is no path. There is uncharted territory. There is fear and safety. There is heartache and love. There is a lifetime of growing up to become an entire person. Whole despite our holes. Safe despite our fears. Loving despite our heartbreaks. Middle Way despite the choice of left or right. Leading to Ways beyond...

Beyond...

Thank you for reading. And for being.

In my path.

And Beyond.

Love, Jessica

Words. How we relate. How we engage. How we share. How we offer. How we love. Words. Words carry meaning. We have little control over things of this world, but one thing we choose, are the words we use. Through words, we can be implicit or explicit. We can craft or create. We can expand and pronounce. We can profess and proclaim. Through words, we can heal, reassure, compliment, welcome, soothe, settle, enhance, create, bond, connect...We can appreciate the freedoms that are bound to the process of communication.

My birth day in 1978 was documented on a yellow lined legal pad, with a blue ball point pen, in my dad's distinct handwriting. He recorded each minute detail with each second that ticked until he had a daughter. He wrote about my mom- her beauty and strength. He wrote about the first steps in his journey of fatherhood. He wrote about his emotions. He wrote from all his senses- seeing, hearing, touching, feeling. He wrote from the place of an observer, and from the place of a proud husband and dad. He wrote for himself, but probably a little piece of him wrote for me, as a 43 year old, reflecting on the journey...and how it all started.

The day I proclaimed Narragansett Beach as a non-sea glass beach, was a day that my family was embracing hope of what sea glass represent- renewal and healing. It was one year ago- a year that seems both a lifetime and a blink of an eye- a year marked by my mom receiving a shocking diagnosis. "We can do hard things." became one of our many mantras as we immersed ourselves in all measures of hope, inspiration, blessing, fortune, light, love, and healing. That day, just hours after speaking the words "sea glass", the tide peeled back and the sunlight caught a clear piece of glass, amidst the hundreds of circular white and purple rocks, dotting the soft sand of Narragansett Beach.

“Thank you for letting me walk with you right to the edge of the river. It has been the greatest honor of my life. I would tell you to rest in peace, but I know that you always found peace boring. May you rest in excitement. I will always love you.”

-Elizabeth Gilbert, in a tribute to her partner, Rayya, who she called- my love, my heart, my best friend, my teacher, my rebel, my angel, my protector, my challenger, my partner, my muse, my wizard, my surprise, my gift, my comet, my liberator, my rock star, my completely impossible non-cooperator, my otherworldly visitor, my spiritual portal, and my baby.

Touch.

Deep and abiding connections with each other.

Walk me to the edge of the river.

Walk with me.

Hold my hand.

For years down the Cape, we had spent our beach afternoons hunting for hermit crabs, filling plastic pails with so many of the little guys, that they would be crawling upon each other, a moving pack of spindly legs and peeking eyeballs; the pails getting so heavy that carrying them back to the towel would contort the flimsy plastic handle precariously, threatening to slosh the salt water from their makeshift aquarium. We used nets and our bare hands to grab the little guys. It was not a difficult catch, but we beamed with pride and success hauling a full bucket back to the grown ups to inspect the bounty of crustaceans.

I recognize that family is not a static unit to be conceptualized, but an ever-fluid, beckoning expanse of interaction and experience.

Experience. Yes. Family is an experience.

An experience, as in a family cookout, Greek Easter dinner, a Cape beach day, or a family volleyball game? We certainly have had all of those...

Experience as an overarching adventure- the envelopment of a comedy of errors; a Seinfeld episode; an SNL skit; a Broadway play...

Experience as a coming back to; a growing up in; a ricocheting off of; a settling into...

Experience as a familiarity; an aligning; a comfort; a security; an endless embrace...

Family.