It's about 10 hours into the day of driving south when something changes. When I step outside to pump gas, I'm greeted by salty air, heavy with moisture. Palm trees line the highway, swaying in the breeze. That Lowcountry South Carolina feeling is something I can't get enough of.
When I pull onto Hilton Head Island, a feeling of calm settles over me. The turquoise blues and envy greens of the ocean sound, streams of foam from passing boats, and floating buoys all welcome me to a week of paradise.
Pulling into our condo, the twelve-hour drive behind me, I look forward to mornings with a cup of coffee and a book, lounging on the couch as sun streams in the windows. Bike rides through pine needle strewn paths. Walks on the beach that leave the bottoms of my feet raw and the crunch of sand between my teeth. Glasses of wine after a day of sun and heat. Dinners in the air conditioning surrounded by views of the coast and sunsets.
Trips like these--where plans and obligations are distant, the most pressing task that of gaining a nice summer glow, my biggest problems untangling sea whipped hair and resisting the urge to scratch pesky mosquito bites--give me time to reflect and recollect. Without the everyday distractions, I get to spend quality time with my family and it's suddenly okay to spend hours laying on the floor, just enjoying talking and existing.
When the time comes to pack my bags and prepare for the trip back, I'm always left with a mix of emotions. While normal life is comfortable for me and I look forward to returning to a routine, I'm never quite ready to say goodbye to my favorite place. I've begun to wonder if normal life could be that of lowcountry living. Beach trips could be a daily occurrence, Harris Teeter could replace Kroger as my grocery stop, and my favorite "vacation" restaurants could become regular destinations. But if vacation life and real life merged, would it take away the magic? This is my constant debate.
So, for now, I leave Hilton Head with a bronzed glow, a happy heart, and the almost undetectable, but ever present feeling of melancholy--already longing to return to this haven. Good times stuck in my mind like the sap and pine needles to the car windshield.
Until next time HHI.
When I pull onto Hilton Head Island, a feeling of calm settles over me. The turquoise blues and envy greens of the ocean sound, streams of foam from passing boats, and floating buoys all welcome me to a week of paradise.
Pulling into our condo, the twelve-hour drive behind me, I look forward to mornings with a cup of coffee and a book, lounging on the couch as sun streams in the windows. Bike rides through pine needle strewn paths. Walks on the beach that leave the bottoms of my feet raw and the crunch of sand between my teeth. Glasses of wine after a day of sun and heat. Dinners in the air conditioning surrounded by views of the coast and sunsets.
Trips like these--where plans and obligations are distant, the most pressing task that of gaining a nice summer glow, my biggest problems untangling sea whipped hair and resisting the urge to scratch pesky mosquito bites--give me time to reflect and recollect. Without the everyday distractions, I get to spend quality time with my family and it's suddenly okay to spend hours laying on the floor, just enjoying talking and existing.
When the time comes to pack my bags and prepare for the trip back, I'm always left with a mix of emotions. While normal life is comfortable for me and I look forward to returning to a routine, I'm never quite ready to say goodbye to my favorite place. I've begun to wonder if normal life could be that of lowcountry living. Beach trips could be a daily occurrence, Harris Teeter could replace Kroger as my grocery stop, and my favorite "vacation" restaurants could become regular destinations. But if vacation life and real life merged, would it take away the magic? This is my constant debate.
So, for now, I leave Hilton Head with a bronzed glow, a happy heart, and the almost undetectable, but ever present feeling of melancholy--already longing to return to this haven. Good times stuck in my mind like the sap and pine needles to the car windshield.
Until next time HHI.