Beginnings

I’m sitting on the beach inches from where the waves touch the dry sand before sliding back into the sea. The tide is coming in. A few more minutes, and the waves will be kissing my toes. I hug my knees to my chest and take a deep breath. The air is heavy with salt. As dusk settles in, the sky glows shades of soft pink and purple. A mist rises from the ocean and clings to the wet sand. Just south down the shoreline, Avalon pier lazily stretches into the sea.

It’s late July on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. On a whim my kids and I rode our bikes to the beach before bedtime. My youngest, who’s been jumping into the surf as the waves roll in, has paused to examine the sand at his feet. He reaches down, then runs to me, “Mama! Mama! I found a shell for you!” I look into his slightly pudgy three-year-old palm and see the smallest speck of a shell. I shift my gaze to his face. His shoulder length, beach-boy hair is half wet and sandy. Strands stick to his cheeks, and his eyes sparkle. My heart swells. With loving care, I pick up the tiny shell and place it in my own palm. We both look at it again. “Mama, don’t lose it. Put it in your pocket!” He’s barely finished the command before running back toward the water to find more treasures. My daughter, seven, is just past the break. She’s attempting handstands underwater. She pauses, looks back toward the shore and waves to me, face beaming. “Mom! Did you see that?!” I take another deep breath in and exhale. This. This is what life is all about.

My love for this place runs deep. I spent about half of my childhood here. When I was a kid, I don’t know that I appreciated the beauty and power of this place. But of course, how could I? It seems the natural course of things to realize the value of a place once you’ve left and then returned.

There were moments though. I remember a fall evening when I was about twelve, standing on the porch at our house on Creek Street off West Third. There was a storm approaching, and the house, a beach box on pilings, was swaying in the wind. I stood with outstretched arms, leaning in. I was trying to find just the right angle where the howling wind would hold me up, and I could lose myself to the beauty and power of Mother Nature.

I also remember days sitting on the beach and staring into the horizon. I stared hard, eye squinting, wondering how far I could see. I tried to picture going over the horizon, floating across the stretches of deep blue sea, and finally coming upon the west coast of Africa. I imagined the winds swirling there- winds that would eventually become hurricanes here, an ocean away.

Like most of us, the story of my life has been a long, winding road with all sorts of unexpected twists and turns. And yet, somehow the winding road has looped in on itself, landing me back on this magical sand bar after decades of living in places as far flung as New York City and Bali, Indonesia. There was college, a teaching career, living in different cities. There was a marriage, two kids, and a divorce. Now here I am, sitting on a familiar sandy shore, watching the two little beings I created lose themselves to the same beauty that shaped my childhood.

One of those twists in my life’s winding road was discovering the Montessori philosophy of education. About eight years ago, I was feeling miserable working in public schools, and especially dejected about returning to that environment after my first maternity leave. An ad for a math and science teaching position at Richmond Montessori School changed the entire trajectory of my life. I got the job and began my Montessori training the following year.

Finding Montessori felt like coming home- coming home to what I already knew was true about education. That children, like all of us, are whole people. That although academics are important, there is much more to the human experience, and that education should honor that.

My Montessori training was not like any teacher preparation program I had ever seen or heard of. It was more like an intensive group-therapy, sleep-away camp for adults. This is on purpose. Montessori believed that a teacher must be “transformed” in order to do this important work. There was curriculum planning, thematic lessons, classroom organization strategies- all the trappings of traditional teacher preparation. But at its core, the program was meant to transform us.

Montessori training was the first time in my life I was in an environment where I felt like I belonged simply because I was there- safe, loved, and seen. I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t have to earn it. The love and generosity was simply on offer. I learned how to create an environment for children where they too can feel they belong- an environment where they know they are exactly who they were meant to be. In this way, we set them up to thrive, and through their unique gifts and talents make the world a better place.

I returned to the Outer Banks nearly two years ago after a difficult separation and divorce. My ex-husband and I had been living abroad when we separated, and so upon my return I was jobless and homeless. During the tumult of that time, I wasn’t sure where I would land. But something magnetic pulled me back to this place.

It was here that I met Kim when I started teaching at a local Montessori school last year. We became fast friends. Kim is the embodiment of a Montessori teacher and a beautiful beach hippie goddess. Her long blond hair always looks like it’s just finished drying after an afternoon dip in the ocean. Her clothes are flowing and silver jewelry adorns nearly all her fingers and toes. With her artist’s eye and her green thumb, she leaves a trail of beauty wherever she goes.

But it’s not just an aesthetic. Kim embodies peace, love, and generosity. She and her family offered their home to me and my kids when I was struggling to rebuild my life. The love and support she offered helped me to not only get back on my feet, but to rebuild my confidence and sense of purpose after a difficult chapter in my life. It’s the lived experience of the Montessori philosophy. I know now, it’s not just about education. It’s a way of moving through the world peacefully and giving generously. It’s a way of being in reverence to the beauty of the world and the beauty in each person we encounter. At its core, it’s how we pay attention.

Kim and I created Outer Banks Montessori Collective as a way to nurture a Montessori way of life for ourselves, our own children, and this beautiful community we call home. Through it, we seek to not only educate children, but also create a community in which we take care of one another through all the unexpected twists and turns of our lives. We hope to teach our children that though the road is long and winding, we can always find our way back home. And we’re here to help one another along the way.

Sitting on the beach, on this late July evening, I feel at home. Watching my kids play in the surf, I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. I’m excited for what the future holds, and all the beautiful work we will do.