How was your migration?

Given the choice, I’d for sure choose ocean over lake, but with young kids, sometimes a day without waves is a good thing. A few summers ago, early in the season, I was setting up my beach chair and the 9,000 things one brings to the beach with two small children, when a duck family (I mean, I think they were a family, but I’m not a scientist… maybe they were friends… who knows) splashed down at the shore where Grace and Nicky were testing the water. Delighted at their arrival, Grace called out, “How was your migration?” She hadn’t seen the ducks in a year or so, and greeted them like old friends from the neighborhood.

I think about this all the time. And not just because I’m amazed that I’m her mother and that she thinks to ask questions like this (but I really am– amazed, that is).

We are always migrating through this life.

Even in the quiet, colder seasons when it feels like we’re not accomplishing much, not growing much. And when we arrive some place warmer, or return home after the thaw, what could be better, more natural, than to reflect on the route we took to get there.

We’ve spent the past few months on the Cape, going to the beach early in the day, before any sign of crowds appear– but mostly staying home. We’ve visited the ducks a few times, and they happily disobeyed social distancing protocol to check the beach bag for snacks. But it’s nearly time to wind down our summer and migrate into the next season — and, as ever, I’m not sure what is to come. School starts for Grace in less than a week (2 mornings a week in person, a 3rd morning every other week, and the remaining time remote). This will be our first real, big change since isolating due to covid-19 in early March.

I’m not ready, but change comes regardless.

Soon enough, we’ll be missing the ducks at the shoreline, and so much of the natural world around us will be preparing to rest. A new season, even — or maybe especially– as a pandemic rages, is the perfect time to look back on what came before and ask questions from a place of wonder and curiosity and gratitude. To take stock of what we loved. Who we loved. What we learned. The challenges we’ve endured. The silver linings, too. We get to tuck all these parts away with us, like a little creature hoarding acorns, and savor them during the down time.

And we get to bring them out, and share them with our friends, when we all come out to test the water in the future. The sharing is what makes these things — and most things — worth holding onto.

I’ve never flown south (I mean– I’ve taken a plane, but… not the same), or made even a slightly similar journey, and can’t imagine how hard and how dangerous and how scary that might be. And so it is with our own lives. We don’t make it out of here totally unscathed. But we travel together (even when we’re apart), and we help each other.

We are always migrating through this life. And even if it doesn’t feel like it, we have to trust that we are still growing, still taking all the right paths. That’s how we make it home.

Also On Tap for Today (*that autocorrected to toady and I was so tempted to keep it):

• I loved this article from Rachel Wilkerson Miller on Vice: If You’re Already Dreading Winter, Here Are Some Small Ways to Prepare Now
• An important read from POLITICO: A tale of 2 recessions
• A foggy morning swim with the babes

How’s your migration?