by Ashley Weeks Cart
James finished this video a week ago, and yet I’ve been holding off from posting it in the hopes of writing a profound and eloquent post on the concept of “home.”
I would have waxed nostalgic about the power of physical place, and how living in this little mountained valley settles my mind and provides a sense of calm and assurance that comes from years of experiences that have strongly tethered me to this place, this home. The shadows and ghosts of memories past blend and meld together in singular spots, as time and life has provided such a mash up, ever growing the sense that this place, in a very physical, tangible sense, is my home. And always will be.
And then I would have talked about a different notion of home. Of home as a feeling. As a state of mind. As an aura that comes from a set of sensory experiences. The taste of salt and how it moves through the air. The sensation of it dried and crusted on my skin. The way sand scratches and scraps between toes. The sound of waves creeping up the shore and bubbling away in retreat. The smell of sunscreen, tropical and sweet, its greasy film layered on top of humidity induced-sweat. A living (albeit greasy) piece of sand paper. The way it feels to be engulfed in water – the dulled quiet, the intensified chill. The energy and rush that comes from such submersion. The way that all of these sensations, no matter my place in the world, tug at my gut, fill me with memory, and nostalgia, and comfort, and joy, and longing.
The ocean will always be my home.
James, thank you for so succinctly and beautifully capturing a piece of why that is.