Over the past 16 years I had run this beach over 100 times. For the first time I can remember, while on one of these excursions, I am not battling a hot morning sun. Today, it’s heavily overcast and any hope of the sun breaking through is minimal. When you’re spending big bucks so you and your family can search for the perfect tan it certainly isn’t the kind of weather you dream of. Usually my jogs begin around 7:00 am and almost always provides me a time for quiet introspection because I mostly run alone. Recently my knees have not cooperated enough to allow me to do much running but today is an exception. With the clouds laying low my daughter Mary Kate suggests these are the ideal conditions to make our journey across the shore a long one. Never one to pass up a challenge, I embrace the opportunity to hear the rhythmic sounds of the waves and the slow ticking of my dreams as Mary Kate sprints out far ahead.
There is no better place than the ocean to get your mind into a reflective state; to give yourself a chance to look back from where you started and where you’re dreaming about going. As my bare feet pounded into the wet sand I tried to clear my head of the life I left behind in New York. I tend to get very emotional and evaluative of my place in the world in the proximity of the vastness beside me. In the couple weeks prior to arriving in the Caribbean I had conducted pre-“conversations” interviews with two talented artists chasing their dreams. One was a 46 year woman with three children who still sincerely believes she can be a country western singing star. The other was an 18 year old, Buddy Holly lookalike who is convinced that he is on his way to stardom as a singer, song writer. The meetings made me think of the times long ago when I had my own dreams. It reminded me where my dreams had gone and, more importantly, the conversations had gotten me to focus on my dreams for tomorrow.
As a kid my dreams were centered on being a sports star. I pictured myself striding up to the 18th green at the Masters with a three shot lead. Or I was on the mound pitching game seven of the World Series. 
Looking out across the endless sea I chuckled to myself about how quickly I had to put the sporting glory days behind me. My Nashville star told me she had put her childhood dreams aside to raise a family. On the other end of the spectrum, “Buddy Holly” spoke of the certainty of him eventually becoming a star. I listened as he played a set with a band led by local legendary musician who was now in his sixties. Jimmy Eppard is as talented as any musical artist I have ever witnessed in person, yet he is still hammering nails for a living.
I was still running and wondering: When is it time to stop chasing? How do we know when it’s time to move on? By now Mary Kate and I were almost to the other end of the island. She had stopped to wait for me.
“Let’s go all the way to the end,” said my athletic daughter.
I was ready to turn around, but there was no way I was passing up the opportunity to keep running with her. She had so much ahead of her, so much time. On this gray morning it seemed she could run forever. It was the first time I can remember not being able to physically keep up with her youth. We had covered a lot of ground but the distance between us was growing wider. Mary Kate had been waiting several minutes when I reached the far tip of the island.
“Dad you used to be able to keep up,” sighed MK, showing no signs of fatigue.
“I know, I know,” I conceded breathlessly.
Without any further conversation she started running the opposite way from which we came. Her old man had no choice but to start moving and try to catch up.
In many ways I had dreamed of this day, this very moment. A day that years ago I would have bet a large sum of money would never happen. I reminded myself that I was in a place that 30 years prior I had visualized-on vacation with my family on a faraway island. My offspring were no longer children and they were formulating their own dreams now. It was time for them to go on with their lives without me beside them. It was time for me to stay close but always behind. The rest of the day was going to be filled with the stuff my dreams were made of: A guided Jet Ski tour in the ocean with my older daughter, Laura; writing on the beach; a couple of cold libations; and a beautiful family dinner watching the sunset. Motivated by the notion of what was ahead for the day, I started to run harder.
Tolstoy wrote, “The two strongest warriors are time and patience.” I read that when I was 19 taking a required Russian Literature course. At the time the words gave me reason to pause. Only in the present do I think I have come to understand what he meant. There are time constraints that are universal to everyone. It is for certain that time can, and usually does, expire on our dreams. Instead of being crushed we must find the wisdom to know when to stop chasing the unachievable. We need to develop the patience to understand we have not failed but have just simply run out of time. There are always new dreams to dream. About the time I was absorbing Tolstoy I had accepted my childhood dream of putting on the green jacket at Augusta would never be realized. As I pushed myself to keep moving my legs down the shoreline I caught my second wind. The clouds in the sky were lifting and I sprinted with every bit of energy I had left to catch Mary Kate. It was no use; she was already cooling off in the water.
Although what I dream of these days is far different than the dreams of my adolescence, I’m chasing them with more vigor than ever. I see many grandsons in my future, I see more published books, and maybe a few more rounds in the 70’s. But mostly I see myself finding serenity and feeing full in a faraway place in the sun.
