Island Time
On Monday, Eliza and I took my mom to Vinalhaven, an island about fifteen miles off the Maine coast.
Sitting in the car that morning, drinking coffee and waiting for our turn to drive onto the ferry, I found myself caught between conflicting stories. Both of them equally true.
I could say to myself: With the amount of work on my plate, I never should have taken a Monday off to play tourist. That’s what rich people do.
I could also say: How lucky we are to have the freedom to spend a beautiful day with my mom as she approaches her 80th birthday. I’ll remember this long after the work is forgotten.
Both stories are accurate descriptions of the same event. But each creates a different reality. One makes me feel guilty. The other fills me with gratitude. As the ferry rocked gently on a calm sea and the granite shores of Vinalhaven came into view, I found myself rocking back and forth between these two conflicting narratives.
After a day exploring Vinalhaven’s winding roads and abandoned granite quarries, I had to choose which story to tell myself: guilt over taking time off work, or gratitude for the chance to spend time with the people I love. As we made the ferry ride back to the mainland, it was an easy choice.