The Pause

Two birds I almost missed

This morning started with a sunrise.

I walked out to the beach before the light broke, and I wasn’t alone. A stranger stood at the water’s edge, waiting. We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Just two people choosing to be still in the same moment, taking in the sound, the smell, the chill in the air in our own ways.

I watched a bird standing where the ocean lapped the sand. Took a photo. When I looked at it later, I noticed something I’d missed in real time: a second bird had entered the frame.

The two of them acknowledging each other in a way I hadn’t seen because I was too focused on what I thought I was capturing.

We miss things when we’re moving too fast.

I’ve been absent here for almost a month. My father passed on November 21st. And if I’m honest, I’d been running long before that. Watching his decline over the past few months, I didn’t want to feel it. So I did what I know how to do: I picked up the pace. Buried myself in the grind. Let the pressure and the pulse of work drown out what I didn’t want to face.

It didn’t work, of course. It never does.

I was with him at the end. I said things I should have said years ago. He couldn’t speak, but he squeezed my hand. I’ll keep those words between us. But what stays with me is this: we waited. We waited until his literal last days to say what mattered.

That’s the part that breaks my heart.

He wasn’t perfect when I was growing up. I’m sure my kids would say the same about me at times. But I’m trying to be better. Trying to be present. To engage. To actually be with them instead of just near them.

Here’s what I know now: when I think about my father’s last days, I don’t think about his job. I don’t think about his projects or his deadlines or what he accomplished at work. I do think about the array of experiences he had through life. I think about the words I finally shared with him. The grind isn’t for the grind. We exchange our time and expertise for compensation, and then we use that compensation to buy back time for the things we actually value.

I don’t have this figured out. I’m not writing to teach a lesson. I’m writing because I’m trying to find my center again, and writing is part of how I do that.

This morning there was a sunrise. Two birds I almost missed. A stranger who understood without a word.

Sometimes the system that holds under stress is the one that knows when to stop.

I’m learning.