The trip that reminded me I'm still here

I'm not a long-trip person. Three days, white sand, blue water - that's the whole prescription.

I packed light: linen, denim, one good swimsuit, a straw hat older than my marriage. I read a book on a porch swing. I ate too many chips and salsa. I didn't check my phone until 10 a.m. for three days running.

"She walked differently. She asked for things she wouldn't have asked for before. She took up the space she was always supposed to take up."

And somewhere on day two, walking the beach at golden hour, I felt the thing I forget I'm allowed to feel: I'm still here. I'm still becoming.

That's the whole point of a trip like this. Not the photos. The remembering.