On Becoming like Sea Glass

June is a hard month for me. I have experienced a lot of darkness in my Junes. When I was 15, June marked my first major depressive episode. When I was 18 it marked my first manic episode following another depressive episode. When I was 24, it marked the darkest time of my life. I was in a place physically and mentally by then that I couldn’t see my way out of. When I see where I am today, I understand the darkness. I accept that my future Junes don’t have to resemble my past ones.

If you’re new here, you should know I live for a good metaphor. What I love even more are metaphors of my own making. A few years back, I decided that I have become like sea glass. I’ll explain.

Sea glass begins as a discarded, broken, everyday object — a broken bottle, tossed asunder into the ocean. But it’s what the glass does in the ocean that matters. The bottle moves with the ocean and the sand, not against them. The glass understands that the elements are there to make it stronger. The glass spends day after day being battered by the water and the sand. It doesn’t quit. It sits in the pain and in that space it evolves. By becoming one with the journey it is on, the glass emerges, in time, smooth, beautiful, new. Sea glass is the result of living within a journey of pain, loss, challenge, and growth, and finding your way to the other side victorious — a better version of yourself than when things began. So I see myself as the sea glass.

I have been through my own versions of daily ocean battering, and I am lucky enough to say that I have come out of the other side, stronger, and more beautiful, as a product of the wear and tear of my journey. Not everyone is that lucky. And yet, there were times in my own struggle that I never saw the path from a bottle to a piece of jewelry. There were days when I though the ocean would beat me. There were days when I thought I would just let it. But, like the glass, I chose to let the journey shape what happened next.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have permanent peace with the month of June, but I am choosing to view it in the scope of my present day — in my sea glass lens versus my broken bottle lens. I am choosing to decide what happens to sea glass after it has been made smooth. Maybe I will find a way to inspire like-minded bottles. Maybe I will find a way to the neck or wrist of someone who appreciates the journey I have taken. Maybe I will lay myself on a beach for a bit until I decide what’s next.

In the last month, I have undergone a series of changes. Not ocean-level uncomfy changes, but changes I am optimistic about and proud of. I resigned from a role in which I realized that no matter how deeply I cared about the humans I worked with, I didn’t care about the work I was doing. And now, I am headed, both metaphorically (like you didn’t see that coming?!) and physically to a new place. I accepted a new role that I will begin Monday, that will also result in a move out to New York City.

That was a dream that broken bottle/sea glass in progress, college Nora had, that is now being fulfilled — make it out to New York City. The winters will be brutal and my hair is not prepared for the humidity but I am literally overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for the adventure. I am also lucky enough to be going to a place that is just as thrilled about me as I am about them — and that my friends, is a magic feeling.

I also said goodbye, metaphorically and physically to a big part of my life as my parents make their own move out to the East Coast for their next adventure. Last weekend, I said goodbye to the place that has been home for 23 years of my life. It’s a house that became a home with each birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mother’s Day, Easter, each new pet, each graduation, each meltdown, each makeup, each breakup. That house is where I grew into who I am today. That house saw me become sea glass. And now, as I continue my journey, I am grateful for the oceans of growth it gave me. The house will hold so much of who I am, always. And yet, I am ready to make new memories, in new spaces.

The house holds memories of those no longer with us as well. The house had its own “lasts” — last meals cooked, last outfits chosen from the closets, last laughs about memorabilia in the attic. I watched Frozen 2 recently (10/10 recommend) and they discussed that water holds memories. I like to think that that house will hold my memories forever. And I would like to offer the new owners the space to become sea glass in that house. I hope that the next stories that happen in that space are just as beautiful as mine. I know that I am taking my own pieces with me, and leaving behind what is meant to be smoothed over by the next ocean of time.

There’s a famous Semisonic song, called “Closing Time” — if you don’t know it you are either Gen Z and we have beef because you cancelled my skinny jeans, or you’ve been hiding under a rock since 1990. Take the two minutes to look it up on Spotify if you must. The important part, is that the song states “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end” and it rings so true for me. The new owners of the house are starting their new beginning, while my family has our beginning’s end. I am leaving San Francisco, my beginnings are ending, so that I can find a new beginning in New York.

Sometimes our journeys also include losing other broken bottles on the way. Maybe they weren’t ready to become sea glass when we were. Maybe they wanted to find a different ocean to turn into sea glass. Maybe they preferred their life as a bottle. Maybe they saw life beyond sea glass. Whatever the reason, the people we lose along the journey, may find our way back to us, but they may not, and all we can do is hope that they are happy in their ocean. I have a long time friend, who I feel has drifted to a different ocean. I made my intentions and boundaries very clear, but some people just aren’t ready for the same journey as us — and we have to trust their choice in that matter.

I have hope that it is not where our story ends, and yet, I know that I have done everything I am capable of to show where I stand. That’s the thing about a journey — it is YOURS. The people who join that journey with you have to be there of their own free will, otherwise, they’re not genuine supports. Can we take a moment for the grammatical feat involved back there — eh? Ok, probably just me… I digress.

What I have learned across many Junes, many oceans, many journeys, is that the path here was worth it. I wouldn’t take back the pain because it taught me my power. I wouldn’t take back the loss because it showed me how to know what gains mean. I wouldn’t take back the darkness because it taught me how to find my way to the light. I wouldn’t take back the rejections because they served as redirections. My path from broken bottle to sea glass was more than a metaphor for me. The road I took to go from jaded, lost, and broken to strong, smooth, and reliable wasn’t linear, or easy, or filled with many constants — but you know what it was the whole time? ALL MINE.

We have it inside each of us to choose what our path looks like. It might be scary to admit you’re not where you want to be on yours. It might be scary to admit that you ARE where you want to be on yours. You may have to let go of people, places, and things along the way. But when you finally realize you’ve become the sea glass — it’s worth it.

Whenever I find myself reflecting too harshly on my past mistakes, which often happens in June as past memories surface, I check back in with myself, and I ask if the bottle going into the ocean knew it would become sea glass, would it still make the journey? I can’t say for certain. I can say that the only way to become the sea glass, is to decide to take the journey as the bottle.

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