The Story Behind the Sun
Updated: Feb 5, 2023
Here we go… I sang from the driver’s seat glancing at Ferguson riding shotgun. Sitting regally tall, he – and I – were both ready to dive into a new world as we hit the road from bone-chilling Chicago toward the vibrant beaches along the Gulf of Mexico that morning.
February 2021: Burnt out from a year of heavy work on the humanitarian COVID response, knee deep in sunless day after day, going on month eleven of living solo in a concrete high-rise during quarantine, everything in my body screamed we need to come up for air. So we left for three weeks near the sea.
Since then, nearly everything has changed. The teeth of vulnerability sink themselves into my skin as I write this, but the deepest part of me knows that sometimes, messages living beneath the surface of what we usually see are meant to be shared, even when they’re not perfectly polished and edited. (Not so easy to admit for what my dear coach calls a recovering OAP: overachieving perfectionist.) Welcome to my life in the Deep End. It’s thrilling and heart-bursting to be here with you as a fellow human who tucks into the soft folds between this overstimulating, whirling world. Where life as a deep feeler, quiet-lover, supersonic sensor and carer of Mama Nature drift together as one. All inspired by the one who’s witnessed and shaped it all.
I’ve long joked that writing has been my first language rather than speaking, which can sometimes feel like tripping over rocks wearing too big of shoes. My brain goes into overdrive and when I spit something out it never sounds quite how I want. But it’s a pretty miraculous thing we do when we read words – absorbing microscopic dots on a screen through our eyeballs that reach down into our hearts and make us feel stuff, don’t you think? The power of letters strung together never ceases to remind me that words always matter. So much of my writing I keep to myself. Yet over again, I’ve seen how these dots – when shared with the right people – can form a bridge of connection out of loneliness. At least, that’s what I’ve found when I witness someone’s unclouded truth peep out from way down there. Shortly after deciding to publish a blog, I dreaded the internet. The endless platforms to choose from, hundreds of templates, plans and domain names – it’s the same reason I avoid 14-page menus like the kind at the Cheesecake Factory. Just get me to the writing part. Then, the visuals. None other than the COVER page visual. No pressure. It’s only the first image everyone will see and judge forever. I took a long, hot shower, sprawled out on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Relaxed. Breathed. And… bing! I knew. Again, transported from overwhelm to the calm of the beach.
That morning, Ferg and I wake up to water pouring through the ceiling of the AirBnB. Never a dull moment with us. Now, we tote ourselves from the condo down to the powdery white sand where the water belongs in our nightly ritual of watching the sun sink into the sea.
As we walk along the water’s edge, a woman wearing a weathered beach cap approaches us. I saw her walk out of a house just behind us with two large golden retrievers earlier.
"You have your phone on you?" she asks in an Alabama drawl. I nod. She holds her screen out in front of me, pointing, "That's you and your baby walking there. As soon as I took it, I knew you had to have it." There it was, a stunning, spontaneous image of us framed by nature’s fiesta. One that shows our bond, our need for each other. Captured by a perfect stranger who knows what it means to preserve moments of meaning we can return to anytime we need. An anchor of connection.
And that is what you see when you come to the Deep End.
It hadn't been the original plan to bring Ferg to Florida. His little old bladder on the road for 14 hours, hotels that accept dogs, roadside pit stops with no one to hold the furbaby while you do your own business. But as the trip drew closer, I had a hunch that those were all pebbles of sand compared to how much I’d need my little guy curled at my feet. I was right. In his ripe age, I also wanted him to see the ocean to round out his very full life.
Ferg served as an enormous connector during that trip, and his whole life. People’s faces softened as they passed by, some bent down to give him ear noogies. Sometimes we chatted, other times it was just a quiet moment of appreciation that helped soothe the pinch of long-held isolation. Now, I’m on the other side as the one that stops to pet – but I can tell you, the joy I get from a moment of light like that is still so rewarding. In the photo, Ferg and I appear to be on the beach by ourselves. You can’t see the clusters of others enjoying their own slice of treasure, many of them looking out for others delivering smatterings of joy when they’re least expected. But take it from us: they are always there.
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