Passion

The heat pushed off the pavement  and I was lost in the warping it cast on the scene in front of me. Georgia was foreign to me, but I was eager to explore its marine life. I walked to  the edge of the dock, squinting to trace the pea-sized motor boat in the distance. Goose pimples tickled my arms. When I reflect back to eighteen, I can appreciate how porous my mind was, ready to soak up new experiences. I was unaware of the opportunities ahead of me, where work could feel like play, and experiences could cause my mouth to gape open in awe. 

I had only taken one semester of Marine Biology in High School, but I eagerly counted how many classes I had to endure before heading up to Mr. Limmer’s classroom. I was light footed on the steep back staircase, and used the door frame as leverage to spin into the classroom. I wish I could grab that girl and say, “Stop and feel this. Remember this feeling. Cherish it. Desire it. Chase it.” 

In August of 1989, the class set out to the Jersey shore to study marine life. We combed the beaches, marshes and estuaries, exploring by canoe or knee deep in mud, searching for interesting specimens. In the evening we prepared a family style dinner and before nightly s’mores, we researched our collections from the day. As giddy teenagers, we thumbed through reference books identifying the critters and shared our findings. I woke each day with a swirl of charge in my chest. Signs of passion were emerging yet, I had no roadmap to identify what I was feeling. 

My eyes gripped the Spanish Moss in the distance as we shoved off the Savannah coast into the Atlantic Ocean. Bobby, the lead scientist, was driving the boat and gripped the wide brim of his baseball cap to prevent it from being stolen by the wind. His lean body was shrouded in a faded red plaid button down and his goatee swallowed his narrow lips until he smiled. Wassaw Island was a short ride away. The cabin was adequate, with cramped bunk beds and a single outdoor shower. There was no air conditioning, or  electricity in the sleeping cabins. After a quick tour, we met in the kitchen for the evening schedule.  When the sun set, and the moon hijacked the dark sky, our work would commence. From Mid-May to Mid-August, female sea turtles crawl from the ocean to nest on the sandy beaches.  We had come to Wassaw Island to record scientific data about the turtles, the nest, the eggs, and to make sure she was tagged. I must have looked ridiculous during that meeting, smiling so intensely. We  patrolled the six miles of beaches, on foot or dune buggy, searching for the females to emerge until sunrise. One of my friends gave a small groan, but my smile continued and a glow burned within me.

The days became blurred as we slipped into bed after a sunrise breakfast, and woke late in the afternoon for sunbathing on the beaches we scoured in the dark. The food was forgettable, the hours undesirable, living quarters rugged, but the experience was a moment of growth, a maturing, that taught me what it means to feel from your gut. There were moments in my life where I felt an expansion, gripping me from my belly forcing me to take notice. This was my first understanding of  passion. Life had felt complicated with college applications, and impending High School graduation, but Wassaw Island was simple. Turtles, beaches, a school requirement, were the facts on paper, but the opportunity to get lost in moments of joy and bewilderment were intangibles I wasn’t expecting. The gift of losing track of  time while being entrenched in the moment was new and exhilarating. 

The first female turtle we encountered, was halfway up the sand towards the dunes where her nest would be protected. She was large, slow, and majestic. Her struggle was uncomfortable to watch as she pushed her clumsy flippers into the sand. At that moment, I was acutely aware of the wonders of life. My spirit was at attention from the interaction with the turtles on Wassaw Island and my youth permitted my emotions to be unbridled. 

Today, I chase my passions with fervor and a bit of fear. I parent with the intent of teaching what passion feels like, helping my daughters harness an exhilaration like I felt on Wassaw Island. Encouraging them to do something they love, eliciting a sense of fulfillment and happiness within themselves.  As my life unfolded, many of my passions were stunted or extinguished by those who weren’t comfortable seeing my growth.  I think of the turtles often and  remember. I recognize that following my gut and my heart without fear is the pathway to a fulfilling life. I lost my way for a bit, but I’m back.  And this time, I’m grabbing those passions fiercely,  protecting them with every muscle.