The sea was calling, and I had to go.

I needed to smell the salt air, travel Highway 12 again, and feel myself relax the closer I got.

Every time, my breathing deepens, and I become more excited to do the things I love while there. I always go to my favorite bookstore - Buxton Books. I savor watching sunsets behind Teach’s Lair Marina and eating apple uglies from the Orange Blossom Bakery & Cave. Then there is taking the ferry to Ocracoke and remembering all the childhood fishing trips my family and I shared there.

Yesterday, once again, I made this familiar trek. This time, I was completely alone, but I was not lonely. 

As I traveled Highway 12 and saw the cotton candy sky as the sun set, I knew I was again at a familiar home away from home. Seeing the sand traveling like waves across the road that sits so unusually close to the ocean, along with the sea foam moving like tumbleweed across my path in front of me, of all the places I have traveled, there is nowhere else like this one. 

I needed to come and slow down, and these quiet village towns quiet me uniquely. 

Coming here, I am reminded of happy times, and I can still vividly remember

• The echo of my children's laughter set to the background music of the waves

• The memories we have made in each of the restaurants and stores I enter 

• The great books I have read by the water's edge 

I can also clearly remember somber times. 

• The proof that times have changed, babies have grown, and I’m in a new season with new opportunities and challenges. 

• The times from my childhood when I remember my dad’s laughter and the fun my dad had fishing and navigating the waves in his waders. For the days he was here, he could relax and play in a way elusive for him in his normal day-to-day. Now, I’m the adult trying to remember to play and rest and figure out how much work is “enough” and how to best juggle it all. 

• The time I came here to write words that I couldn't yet speak out loud.

Returning here, I catch glimpses of my previous self. Coming here helps me see how far I've come, and it helps me set my intention for the days ahead. 

Yesterday, as I drove, I started asking myself what it is about this place, this rhythm of returning here that is so important to me, and it occurred to me. Coming to Hatteras and Ocracoke is like taking a personal pilgrimage. 

Pilgrimage is not a word we use often anymore. 

Typically, people think about pilgrimage and assume it is a spiritual pilgrimage, and that's the usage I'm most familiar with as well. It can mean a long, arduous journey, sometimes to a place so expensive and remote that going one time in a person's life is a significant accomplishment. 

A pilgrimage is “a journey, often into an unknown or foreign place, where a person goes in search of new or expanded meaning about their self, others, nature, or a higher good through the experience.”

I agree with this definition but argue that there is also a unique value of going somewhere familiar that also helps remind us where we have been and where we want to go next. 

It’s different from just a trip. It’s not just another place. It’s not just something to check off the bucket list. It is returning to where I’ve been to decide where to go next. And to do that, I need to be fully here now.

And for me, it also helps to have a place close to home.

My near-home equivalent of a personal pilgrimage is stopping by Melanchton Lutheran Church. 

When I feel overwhelmed and need to re-calibrate my internal compass, I only need to drive 10 minutes to revisit this place. It’s a church I loved as a teenager. That sounds strange, but it has always captured my attention, and I would stop by often. At the young age of 19, I chose to have my bridal portrait taken there. I even wrote a paper about it in my freshman UNC geography class when given the task of writing about a place that had particular significance for me and required me to examine why. The caretakers keep the door unlocked so it is welcoming to guests. I’ve included a few pictures I have taken in the past, but they don’t do it justice.

For me, there is something about this church's serenity, simplicity, history, and palpable sacredness. The church and the historical graveyard across from it remind me that many people have come before and have inspired me to make life better for those who follow me. 

The act of intentionally carving out that time just for ourselves is powerful. Within the science of self-compassion, this act falls within the element of self-kindness.  For me, once again, going on one of these “pilgrimages” to the Outerbanks or Melanchton signals, I haven’t forgotten. I don’t want to forget all these parts of my story. Returning is a beautiful opportunity to integrate our whole selves, which we need to bring into each day – our whole selves. 

We can mark our progress. We can connect with where we have been and refocus on where we are going. Hopefully, we can savor the process.

Where is it for you? 

Is there a place and rhythm you would consider your “personal pilgrimage”? If so, where is your place? How does it ground you? I would love to hear.