Written by Daniel Boyd

A group of young adults and SYM staff visited the trails and beach of Carkeek Park. We skipped rocks together, gathered pretty beach debris that caught our attention, and walked the trails of the park. It was beautiful and refreshing, something I’ve done with friends in years past. I stayed for a time at a youth home for Native American youth not far from the park. At the time we did what youth do at beaches— we snuck out in the middle of the night when staff were snoozing at the front desk. We rebelled against our circumstances and did what we could to feel free in an otherwise suffocating reality of chronic poverty. It’s been years since that time. I was just barely nineteen years old, fresh out of the brutal experience of high school. Now, as of the time of writing this blog post, I’m twenty six years old. Bits of worn down, broken glass pieces litter the beach. I picked up a piece myself and examined it. I playfully wondered if this might be one of the many pieces of glass from a night of drinking around a bonfire at the beach with friends.

The time we spent at the beach reminded me of the past. I reflected on then, and now— what I’ve learned over time. I thought about the choices I made then in comparison to the choices I make now. The time we spent on this day squatting in a circle and sharing what bits and pieces of beach side knick-knacks seemed so innocent in contrast to the earlier years of my young adulthood. I appreciate the little moments of candid sweetness in a lifetime filled with many other melancholic moment.. Carkeek Park is a reminder of a past of dark nights pierced by bonfires and washed away with ocean waves and beer.

We took our time enjoying rock skipping in the shallow still water on the beach area. a staff member and I learned for the first time how to skip rocks. Flat, somewhat lightweight rocks seem to do best. You throw it like you might toss a playing car, but not like a Frisbee. My own rocks would bounce maybe once, infrequently twice before quickly sinking below the surface of the water. Another young adult I’m acquainted with seemed quite proficient at skipping rocks; once, twice, thrice… seven times or more I would see his rocks skip across the surface of the water. He must have spent a lot of time growing up practicing the activity.

We left that beach feeling happy and refreshed. The day was well spent with light-hearted activities. It was a moment of positive introspection for me. Long gone are the nights of being huddled around a bonfire with drinks and cigarettes in our hands. Sometimes, though, I think back to those nights with fondness. I wonder if I’ll cherish the time I spent today like I did during those desperate younger years. I regret the past, survive the moments of the present, and do my best to be hopeful for the future. My time with SYM makes me think of these moments as precious. Precious moments that offered escapism from everyday reality. Cue Macklemore and Kesha’s song “Good Old Days”.