on the rocks

I sat on the rocks at watching my mother walk toward the water. It’s just after dawn. Every summer, we come here, to this stretch of sand where we don’t have to think about how we look or if we fit. Here, we just are.

The Polar Bears gather in the early morning on Inkwell Beach. A circle of women moving together in the ocean. My mother, in her late 60s, decided to join them. The water was cold, but she didn’t hesitate. She slipped off her sandals, walked down the beach, and before I knew it, she was holding hands with another woman she’d just met as they jumped into the waves.

It stopped me. Not just because it was beautiful, but because it was brave. My mother has always been like that—willing to try, to push past the edges of comfort, to live fully. And watching her, I realized how much I want that for myself. There are so many things I dream of doing that still feel new, uncertain, maybe even a little scary. But then I see her, laughing with her hands up in the water, and I think: maybe this is what it looks like to leap anyway.

Sitting on the rocks, I took a photo. Not just to remember the view, but to remember this feeling: that strength can be soft, that community can be found in an instant, and that sometimes, the most inspiring thing is watching someone you love run straight into the waves.