July 26, 2025: The Whiplash Effect

One minute I’m barefoot sitting in a beach chair, suntanned and salty, laughing with the people who know me best.

The next, I’m battling traffic on I-95, wondering how the waves disappeared so fast. Vacations take months to plan and hours to pack, but only a blink to be over.

It’s so easy to get used to the togetherness. Relaxed morning coffee. The chatty dinners. The pile of flip-flops by the door. And for a while, time seems to suspend, lazy and endless, only to speed up again at the end.

There are the bookends: the first-day excitement of pulling into a beach cottage driveway, and then the last group hug in that same spot a week later.

In between, a sweet blur.

Almost without warning it’s over, because life doesn’t wait for slow goodbyes. The tide rolls out. Beach towels get packed, and everyone scatters back to separate cities and schedules. Like shells carried off by different currents.

I’m gonna leave the sand in the car for a while.

OKI 2025.