Traces of fire against these rocks bring to mind beach parties from high school. Beer bought with a fake ID and then lots of skinny dipping and playing on the beach on a warm summer night. A ritual from high school. You had to have attended at least one of our beach parties. In retrospect, quite innocent. Some pot, maybe, but nothing more than that and alcohol and we always had sober drivers. Some great music, great friends, and a chance to get away from the folks for a while and just be teenagers again.
I lived for those nights when I could leave who my family thought I was behind and then go out with my real friends and laugh and get goofy, try stupid things, have fun. I celebrate those memories and credit them for helping me realize there was life outside of what my family were presenting me on their road map. I tore up that map. And I still don't know where I'm going. Loving every minute of it.
2 comments:
Your post triggered warm memories. I still don't know where I'm going and also like it that way. Too often, when I did have destinations I found journey's end boring and wished for the excitement that got me there.
My teenage years were filled with muscle cars and drag racing, all under the shadow of vietnam. We weren't sure there would be a world for us when we grew up, let alone what path we were on.
It turns out the world actually hung around.
I like your teenage years better.
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