Dude, Where is My Footprint?

I am a sucker for footprints, especially in the sand.  And I admit that I totally buy into the countless analogies, and puns, that footprints carry (hehehe).  One set of prints may mean that God carried us down the beach, rather than hold our hands to give us strength.  Or, perhaps, a gigantic set of footprints may mean that Big Foot is not only alive and well but as real as cheese (other cheesy statements to follow).  Hell, two sets of gigantic footprints may mean that I was right all along and Big Foot is friends with Harry from Harry and the Hendersons.  Regardless, our footprints tell a story. 

Big Foot is my BF!

Twenty-four hours removed from the most amazing wedding, and vacation, I find it hard to recognize my footprint in the Dominican Republic.  The path on the beach forged by my unusually long toes has undoubtedly been filled, and refilled, with sand brought in by the tide.  Scuff marks left by my rainbow sandals on the marble entry way have long since been buffed out, probably twice over.  And it pains me the most to realize that my submerged bar stool at the pool bar has likely been peed on by someone else, probably at least three times over. 

Due to our travel back to the UK, my wife and I stayed two days longer than the rest of our group.  We cringed to see the rows of lounge chairs and tables by the pool, our home base for the week, become coveted and claimed by a less tan group of vacationers.  We watched the footprints left by our group gradually fade: the tide pushed and pulled sand onto the beach where we snickered at awesome Speedos, the lobby “shenanigans” bar was cleaned around the clock by no less than 4 employees who constantly mumbled “my pleasure,” and several Canadians peed in the pool where we flipped the groom over on his inflatable raft. 

On our final day, we sat back and allowed nostalgia to remind us of the amazing time we had with our friends.  Yes, you can be nostalgic about your experiences just two days prior!  The hotel was certainly magnificent, but it did not take a hot second for us to realize that our trip was remarkable because of the people that surrounded us.  We watched two incredible friends exchange vows, and we were a part of it.

Scientific Conclusion:
Big Foot must have carried Harry
who got wasted at the pool bar!

And that, my friends, was our footprint.  Our lives were united with 45 others.  Our footprints cannot be found in the tracks we left in the sand, the lobby, or on the chlorine-to-water ratio.  Our story is in the moments where we bonded with our friends, old and new, who all shared a common purpose: to commemorate the friendship of two amazing people and to celebrate their new beginnings.  And regardless of the individual paths our group takes from this day forward, we can look back on our shared story and know that it is a footprint, our footprint, and that it can never be washed away.