yes.

(Photo courtesy of: Aram Terchunian, Geotimes.org)

I said yes on a sandy beach on April 10. The sand was smooth and soft under our feet, the tide was calm, the sun shone. It was an easy beach day, and an easy decision. Yes.


Every day requires a new decision, even though my mother is handling most of the arrangements, so I am constantly in a state of answering, "I don't know," or "No," or, "Yes." I like Yes; a decision made, an item checked off the list, a step closer to the day, to every day after that.

I said yes on April 10, but I'd been saying it for 730 days. Yes when things were new, easy, and carefree. Yes when things were familiar, tough, and unpredictable. Yes when we fell, yes when we stood again, tired and sore, yes as our wounds healed, yes when the Spring made everything new again.


I said no on April 12 when my students asked me to read what I'd been writing. It was a warm, sunny day, and I took my English Composition class outside to do some creative writing. Their assignment was to look around, observe something in nature, start writing, and follow their instincts. I told them to write freely, without self-editing, and to allow themselves to write whatever came to them, even if they were afraid of writing it. Nature was to be their initial inspiration, and they should progress to deeper, more personal writing. Reflect, I repeated over and over again, reflect and write and don't stop.

Our campus is perched on a high hill overlooking the ocean, so there was much to inspire. I wrote along with them...

Sparkle of sun on ocean - sparkle of my diamond ring - glittering, shining, moving - motion, activity, but all sparkling. Ocean - endless, eternal, unpredictable, larger than life.


I am afraid to be married - is this normal? I love my fiance, I want to be with him, but I am scared. Marriage is the ultimate commitment, and I have been free for so long. Is this the right choice? Was there anyone else?


Craziness! I love him. Adore him. Have cried for days when I thought I would lose him. Now I have him on my ring finger, glittering, sparkling, shining in the sun -


His grandmother's diamond - history of love, marriage, heartache -


His grandfather, dead from heart failure. He never failed to love her, but his heart stopped working. How? Why?


What if I lose him?


Am I afraid to choose him forever because I might lose him? Maybe. Marriage seems bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than us. Like the ocean, unpredictable. Who knows what will happen? What joys and challenges we are destined for? Who knows what children, houses, births, deaths?


The ocean is huge, scary, unpredictable -
and I've always loved it.


I love him. I want to be with him.


We will be the ocean. We will thrive, move, and sparkle. We will toss and wave and crash and break. We will calm and flow and recede and tide. We will cloud with shadows of unseen creatures and dangers above and below us. We will support life, give life, watch death. We will feel aimless,…

Time was up for writing, and I gave the students the chance to read aloud. One student did; he reflected on animals and a deer he saw in the snow while away at boarding school, and launched into how strange it was to be from the projects in Charlestown and go to school with rich kids in Connecticut.

I beamed - what a successful assignment!

Then he turned on me. "I seen you scribblin' ovah there, Miss, why don't you read?"

"No, I don't think so," I said. They badgered me. Finally I told them I was writing about getting married, but that I didn't want to read what I had actually written. My excuse was the student-teacher relationship distance; the real reason was my shame. How could I be afraid to be married? I'd said yes with no hesitation on that smooth, sandy beach two days earlier.


Last Saturday, we went for a walk on a different beach, one that is less crowded, less commercial...and rockier. The smooth sand of the first beach became smooth rocks that we had to navigate carefully to keep our balance. We focused our eyes on the ground as we walked hand-in-hand, steadying ourselves with each other's balance, finding our footing any place we could.

At one point along the beach, the rocky sand juts out, creating two small lagoons on either side, and ending with a long wall of enormous rocks piled high. We could keep walking along, or we could climb the rocks.

We climbed. We maneuvered. We jumped to big, flat landings, and we helped each other find the best path to the top of the rock wall. Finally, we carefully sat on an overhanging rock, looked out at the ocean splashing below us, and relaxed. There was danger of slipping, falling, hurting ourselves, but the danger seemed manageable - and exciting - as long as we were together.

The ocean was endless, and we talked about our future. A torn flag slapped at the wind, a ship in the distance seemed as small as a toy boat, and the wind turbines on Deer Island spun like pinwheels.

Safely down again, we began the trek back to the beach. Instead of going back the way we came, we went further down the beach to a flack rock jetty that looked like the smooth, dark back of a whale. The rocks were wet, and mossy, but I insisted I could climb them without putting on my shoes. He told me we should go around, but I was adamant and cocky. I didn't want to play it safe - I wanted adventure.

I slipped and fell hard against the rock, deeply scraping my arm and leg. He quickly made a handkerchief-and-belt tourniquet to stop the bleeding on my arm, and my leg bled through my jeans. I was angry, calling myself an idiot as he helped me limp back to the car. My arm and leg stung, and I'd lost the desire for adventure that day.

We went to Target to buy extra-large Bandaids, and had a minor argument about putting them on in the store.

"I'll just wait until we get back in the car! I don't want to put on Bandaids right here."
"Put them on. It's called first aid, not 'when it's convenient' aid."

I consented, sat down in the home decor aisle, and winced as he pressed the Bandaids over the cuts.


For three days I changed my Bandaids, blushed when a student asked what had happened to me, and stayed away from the rocks. Then it was Tuesday, and I had to run. I ran along the beach, feeling a slight pain in my leg with every step, and quickened my pace over the rocks to avoid tripping on smaller, broken pieces. I ran down the stretch between the lagoons, and stopped in front of the rock wall.

I went up alone. This was more dangerous, as nobody would be there if I lost my footing, or slipped, or fell. Nobody would hear my head smack the rock or my bones crack if a loose rock crushed me. But we had successfully climbed this wall, and I was thirsty for that view of endless, impossible, wonderful ocean.

At the top I rested, inspecting the bluish bump that had formed on my leg under the scrape, and got my breathing and heart beat under control. Shivering in the wind, I begged the clouds to let the sun out, and even though they refused, I stayed. These rocks, this view, this beach, this ocean - they were all mine. I had climbed them alone, rested alone, contemplated the world alone, and I would descend alone.

I knew that I could and would survive alone. But I don't want to. I wanted him there, wanted to point out a bird, remark on the waves, and discuss the beauty of the natural world. I wanted to grab his hand for support as I jumped to a lower rock, hand him my keys to hold so I could use both hands for balance, look back up at the pile and smile as we always do when we've just had an adventure.


It was easy to say yes on a sandy beach where everything was sunny, easy, and calm. It was easy to say yes to help with my injuries and a shoulder to lean on when my leg was sore. But I had to climb up those rocks alone, conquer a challenge, and sit humbled by the sheer hugeness of the world around me and the danger of falling alone. I had to face that danger alone to know that I never again want to face it alone. I had to look out at the ocean's power, unpredictability, and eternity to know again, from the deepest and most slippery rocks at the bottom of my soul, that the answer is yes.