It’s funny that when you are young you want to run as far away from home as possible.
I have a newfound love and respect for my home that I lacked when I was young. I knew my home was special but I didn’t appreciate how it restored my spirit and replenished my soul every time I boarded the ferry home.
As I get older, and hopefully wiser, I see my home as a destination instead of a layover. I find another piece of myself each time I return and I am grateful and eager to return to the place that has nurtured me even when I neglected it for greener pastures.
The roar of the ferry’s engines and the lapping of the ocean lull me and I stop to breathe in the briny tangy water and I exhale to the low moan of the ferry’s foghorn; next stop, home.