It’s five o’clock, right here. And instead of leaving the office, we are home already, because now we both work from home, and it’s time for our routine beach walk. We literally step outside, sink our bare feet into the sand, and wander in the direction of Starfish Point, a mile of white stretched before us. New normal has given us so much more time to enjoy the spectacular beauty and serenity of Cayman Kai, where we are lucky enough to live.
With the fresh air, and nothing but the sound of lapping water, I should be carefree, but the truth is I am still torn up over the teens’ absence. Back in the days when they were at school here, 5pm would be the time I’d be just arriving home with B and A, after collecting them by boat from Camana Bay dock. They would be animated, buzzing full of stories about their day’s adventures, recounting the important stuff, such as who got locked in the bathroom during class, or which new accessory everyone had, except them. But today, it is quiet at 5pm, just D, me, and the dog. As we walk, D is watching my face with a slightly concerned expression. Then grins, “Good riddance to those pesky kids.” He’s right, of course. Kids grow. Then they leave. I keep reminding myself, since the moment they’re born, they’ve been learning how to separate away from us.
The update from the teens is extremely positive, of course. A is thrilled to be reunited with her friends at boarding school, swapping stories of summer romances and new piercings. (A now has a second piercing, done in a local tattoo parlour in Cayman, through her right earlobe, but not a boyfriend to speak of, much to D’s relief.) B is settling into his first week at university. He took a room in halls of residence, on the top floor, and with a double bed. The university campus is on the outskirts of London, but the views look fantastically verdant, and the River Thames is a pleasant walk away. Lectures start next week, with a combination of online and in-person presence. Both my teenagers have successfully separated from home into their new environments. I just need to learn how to separate myself from missing them so much.
D and I reach Starfish Point, and squint out towards Camana Bay and the high-rise buildings on the Seven Mile Corridor, brightly lit with the sun directly above them. It looks so far away. It is as if the seven miles of North Sound water between us and the town centre offers the perfect degree of separation to give us who live here the best of two worlds – a peaceful and noiseless lifestyle, but ready access to the town when desired. If we need a bit of hustle, it’s a short fast boat ride away.
So which do I prefer? The hush of Cayman Kai vs the hubbub of Seven Mile? A romantic beach walk vs a boisterous family boat ride? I realise that I don’t need to choose. One degree of separation really does offer the best of both worlds.
