Boats rocked in the distance as I absorbed the world from the rocky shore of Positano. Nearly a week into my Italy journey – I had spent a full day hopping planes, trains and buses to the coast. After a long night in a new place, I had finally found a peaceful moment to pause.
The rocks moved around me as I sat – shockingly more comfortable than expected. I picked up a handful of pebbles and rolled them in my palm as I watched the waves kiss the beach. The breeze was cool, but the sun was warm. Noise from the restaurants and shops was quickly drowned by the crashing water.
Time stopped. I can’t honestly tell you how long I must have sat there. But the smooth rocks in my hands provided some kind of anchor that soothed the anxiety of the much-too-large world I’d found outside of my home state.
That moment on the Amalfi Coast was the official catalyst for what has become a ridiculous travel tradition – of which I have very few.
I stashed four of the small rocks away inside by purse. They roamed the entire trip with me – through Sorrento, Rome and then on to London. Returning to Kansas City – I couldn’t let them go. They quickly found a home inside of an old letter type drawer that hangs on the living room wall. And, they’ve gathered friends ever since.
My obsession with the sediments is a weird one. I’ll admit that first and foremost. I loved rocks and sparkly stones as a kid – picking up all the smooth and shiny geodes sold in the toy stores. I’ve even enjoyed grabbing a healing crystal now and again – more for the nostalgic joy the not-entirely-standard types of rocks have always brought to me. Gathering stones and sands from around the world is actually a pretty natural fit with that in mind.
At this point – all of the rocks are clustered into their own areas of the shelf. The sands are in vials – almost looking like a dirty science experiment than a collection of something not entirely purposeful. At random times, I’ll grab a few rocks and try to remember what the day was like when I found them. Or, I’ll spill a little sand into my hand and reconnect with the memories.
Over time, I’ve realized my system for labeling is minimal at best. With more trips and samples joining the series, I’ve slowly forgotten a few of the early ones. So, here we are: a picture-fueled documentation of the vials, stones and stories.
Beginning with that amazing day in Positano.