Numbers

First of all, today is my father Michael's birthday; to me, birthdays are best celebrated by coming together with people you love to remember the past years and to look down the road at what's to come, but mostly to just enjoy the moment and create some new memories.

And while I hate I can't be there today to raise my glass to him, he and my mother Janet will be coming down in five weeks to celebrate her birthday, so I will get the chance to toast them both then.

Part of our agenda? Going to the beach.

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I have a running list of things to do this year and a few weeks ago, I added Spend at least 10 days at the beach.

Today I crossed off day number five.

Surf City on Topsail Island has become my go-to spot. Eighty-five miles of country driving down blue highways 111 South and 50 South started no later than 9 a.m. guarantees my toes are in the sand 90 minutes later.

Last week, on the Fourth of July, I noticed this sign in a different light. My birthday is 4/22 (4=2+2) and these days number 22 is coming up everywhere.

I glance at the clock and inexplicably it's 3:22 or 9:22 or 11:11 (11+11=22).

I look down at my Garmin and I've walked 1.22 miles.

It may just be the psychological principal of the recency illusion and it's only these moments that are registering because I've attributed significance to the number. Maybe it's merely an OCD tic that's kicking in. It is most certainly profoundly egocentric. Nevertheless, these sightings of 22 have become a touchstone. A moment to remind me to breathe. To smile.

...as has the return of the sun!

Today's waves were fairly large and more consistent than they have been in my recent visits; the surfers were out in full force. After doing my fair share of playing hard, I took my walk.

One mile up the beach, one mile back. Hundreds of footsteps on infinite grains of sand.