The Gulf’s spirit swirled ominously with two hurricanes, Marco and Laura, as they danced their way towards Galveston. Adi and I, new residents of this coastal enclave, found ourselves unexpectedly cast into the narrative of the storm’s path. Untethered from news and anchored in our naivety, we received forewarning through anxious calls and texts from family who reminded us of the world outside our peace. Our seasoned neighbors, well-versed in the art of hurricane bracing, prepped with a calmness I admired yet struggled to mirror. Galveston, a place where the echoes of past tempests speak of survival, reminded us of […]

Galveston, the island with edges as rough as its seas and streets, welcomed me for the first time. It was a place often dismissed by those who never felt the magic woven into its sandy shores and salt-scented air. I arrived there with Adi, whose childhood memories danced around the island’s corners, stories told by two family homes nestled there like sentinels of her past. With a car packed full of teenagers eager for adventure, we traversed the coast. The moment we approached with the car laden like a modern-day caravan, I realized Galveston wasn’t about the pristine image many

The day’s first light painted Galveston in soft hues as we began Adi’s birthday—her first on this storied island. Nine months had passed since we arrived, drawn by the promise of community and a fresh start. We found both. The walking club began as an idea, a simple way to mark her 38th year, and turned into a gathering of friends seeking the same warmth. Each Monday evening, we meet by the Spot on the Seawall, embarking on our path to Miller’s. The beach calls us back for Adi’s true celebration—a bonfire with hotdogs, s’mores, and cheerful pops of freeze-dried