Traditions have a way of grounding us, offering a sense of continuity that transcends time. In our little family of four, we’ve created and nurtured traditions not just around the usual holidays, but also in the in-between moments—the quiet, ordinary days that become special simply because we’ve chosen to honor them. Whether it’s Friday night movie marathons, handwritten lunchbox notes, or an annual backyard campout, these rituals give rhythm to our lives and remind us who we are, together.
But my favorite tradition is Memorial Day weekend, when we head down the Jersey Shore to kick off summer. I’m not a born-and-bred Jersey girl—I still resist the Garden State more often than not. But in the summer, I lean in. Especially if leaning in means Avalon, New Jersey—because that’s truly my happy place.
There is something particularly peaceful about this island that speaks to the very core of my soul. Every year, I come and speak a dream or two into the ocean. It’s almost as if I can imagine the waves carrying my words, whirling them into fruition—or at the very least, thrashing them around with the same wild energy as my imagination until something begins to take shape.
This year, the forecast had projected rain for the entirety of our stay. But in the end, I stood barefoot in the sand under a break in the clouds, the sun slipping through like a promise. And once again, I whispered my dreams to the sea.
For me, summer is more than a season. It’s a return—to rhythm, to ritual, to the parts of myself that get buried beneath schedules and responsibilities the rest of the year. It’s beach chairs lined up in the sand, familiar laughter echoing down the beach, and the comfort of traditions that anchor us in time.
And while I may not be a Jersey girl by birth, these summer rituals—especially our Memorial Day weekend in Avalon—have become woven into the fabric of my family’s story. They remind me that joy can be simple, sacred, and just a short drive down the Parkway.
The Forty Files 