Summer traditions

There's something to be said about summer. It's more than a season. It's a feeling. Ever since our first summers of elementary school, we begin to get an insatiable itch for freedom in the middle of May. 

Suddenly it is no longer acceptable to simply relax at home on the weekends—summer Fridays beckon us to leave work early to pack our cars and get out of town as soon as possible.

My family has always been one for tradition rather than trying new things. For as long as I can remember, we have spent a week every summer in Aptos (near Santa Cruz in Monterey Bay) at a quiet resort called Seascape.

While some vacation spots tend to grow old after too much time spent there, Seascape simply became a second home. It was a relief every summer to roll down the windows as we arrived at that resort, breathing in the salty sea air. Time was no longer relevant as we whiled away our hours on the beach only to wander back to land when our hunger pains required it.

This year is the first where my family has not made the traditional trek to Aptos for a week. My sister and I are both out of high school, my father has been overwhelmed with work and my mother has been putting our house back together after renovations.

Yet as I type this, I am sitting in a café in downtown Santa Cruz. Instead of traveling with my family, I am with a lovely friend from high school who goes to college here and I am later meeting up with Kyle.

It’s strange breaking tradition. It’s bittersweet. As I grow older and am forced to fend for myself, I have grown more appreciative of family and tradition. Yet I also live for change. I think it’s a sign of the times that I am back in this town—where I have spent countless days with my family—alone.

I can no longer sit on my father’s shoulders as we wait in line for the Ferris wheel on the Boardwalk. My sister and I no longer collect a thousand shells each morning because we are old enough to realize there is no use for them.

It’s sad to let go of these memories, but it’s also exciting to embrace new ones. A part of me will always call Seascape home. A place becomes a home not because of how familiar it is, but because of the people you’re with. I’m sure in the next decade, I will find many more homes in the strangest of places—and I can’t wait.