Looking Out and Letting Go

Stonington, Connecticut. Photo by author.

I’m sitting at the edge of the rocks that wrap around the water, jutting out like limbs adjacent to the beach. My son has made friends with a girl who is two years older than him, and as they navigate the rocks, guiding each other from one end to the other, I think of the Isle of Pines, where I sometimes stayed overnight as a child. Unlike the island where my family spends summers, the Isle of Pines was always windy and cool, and there was no big dock where everyone gathered each day. But I loved making my way around the large rocks surrounding one side of the small island.

This is the most relaxed I’ve been in days. Here, I’m reminded of how small my world back home can be — and of the insignificance of her words.

When I first received her text, I didn’t know how to process it. The attack was so personal, so venomous, and weighed down with such deep-seated resentment, I couldn’t fathom how I ever thought of this person as a friend.

But as I sat with her words, shared them, and analyzed them, my confusion turned into clarity. She felt wronged and personally offended, and maybe she had reason to be on some level, but she didn’t leave any room for a response or explanation. Instead, her tone was accusatory, judgmental, and condescending. She condemned my appearance, made assumptions about my childhood (which were false), attacked my character, and…