Two weeks ago, I strapped on my ridiculous ankle walking cast, hoisted my bags over my shoulders and hobbled my way into the RDU airport to fly to New York for a few days. Every year I’ve been at NCNG, I have attended the United Philanthropy Forum conference.

Yes, it’s as nerdy as it sounds. And it’s very meta. It’s the association for grantmaking associations. And it’s terrific. I get to be surrounded by people who understand what I do for a living and we absolutely geek out.

Even after I fell, I was pretty sure that I’d figure out a way to make it to New York. I’d get to see Erin, go see a broadway show, catch up with the friends I only get to see once a year, and attend my first United Philanthropy Forum board meeting, since I joined the board officially during the conference.

And honestly, the boot didn’t slow me down.

But strangely, the grief didn’t either.

New York is a place I’ve only ever been to with Preston once. He went there without me for work several times, but it doesn’t hold a lot of common memories for me. Erin and I have our favorite places – Cafe Habana, Rice to Riches, the MMs store (that’s my favorite – not hers) – but I don’t have strong memories of Preston there.

And this conference is my professional happy place. I know the people and the context, and some of them have been friends for a decade. To be selected as a board member is a great professional honor, and I’m delighted to serve the organization that has meant so much to me. My extroverted self gets to flit around hugging necks and having deep conversations and making new friends and sharing ideas.

And I didn’t cry once.

And I didn’t feel guilty about not crying once. Which honestly, is a pretty impressive accomplishment.

My brain got a little break. After the show the previous Sunday, and the injury, and trying to figure out Conor’s distaste for summer camp, I was exhausted and very emotionally drained. For someone who doesn’t particularly like being “in their feels,” I was pretty much living there for a long time.

So, New York was a gift. In its chaos and lights and noise and heat, it was as calm as my brain has felt in ages.

I’m not ready to go so far as to say I’ve turned some kind of corner. I don’t think it works quite like that. I know it will probably come in waves for a really long time.

We went to the beach last week for Conor’s surf camp. Every day at lunch, I’d wobble on out to the beach and go in the water for a few minutes. One of the days was so calm, the waves were barely breaking. The last evening we were there, they were pounding up on the shore so hard that Conor couldn’t get out past them.

In New York (and to some extent, the beach), the waves were gentle. They were there, but I could just bob up and down and let them incorporate in to my day in a way that didn’t beat me up too badly. The lead-up to the trip was more like being out in the middle of a storm, or caught in a rip tide. I probably spent more than a little time under the water and got an awful lot of stand stuck in an awful lot of places.

After my grief-cation, I’m figuring out when to get in the water and when to stay on the beach. When to let the waves wash over me, and when to thank them for their service and just watch and listen to them crash. I’m learning how to let grief serve me instead of knock me off my feet.

And that’s something, I think.