I’ve been coming to Pacific Beach for over a decade. It started as a family trip and as my family grew and changed it became a new kind of family trip. During Covid we hid out on the beach, working remotely as the one kid who was with us at the time stayed in a separate room and did classes. I worked on my first major market novel from the beach. Fittingly, I am working on the revision of the sequel to that work on the beach and I am working on my MFA from the beach. All of this coincides with me turning 50–another beach milestone. I’ve had so many on these beaches that it feels as though my past and future flow in and out with the ocean tide.
This birthday is different. If feels more like a couples trip since we are with the daughter and her husband. Other kids could’ve come. They all chose not to for various reasons. They’ve been making those choices more often–opting to fold into their own lives vs being a part of ours. It pains me when they do this to the point that the important moments–like my 50th are overlooked in pursuit of whatever they happen to have going on at the time. I have a legitimate fear that I failed in raising my three birth sons and was equally incompetent in nurturing the growth of the two I came to love as my own. The girl, she’s fine. She worked her shit out. The boys are working theirs out, but have all but uniformly decided that I only exist as a function of their needs. That is not the relationship I am trying to have or intend to moving forward.
These are the things I am thinking about here on this first day on the beach. I get a few more. I intend to make the best out of them.