Holden Beach – My Safe Harbor In The Storm

It is time for me to leave North Carolina. I have lived here for 18 years, brought here by a job I left years ago. There are many reasons to leave and very few to stay; I won’t go into them all here, lest this story devolve into a rant. It has never once felt like home, even less so these days. For my last few months here, I created a bucket list of things to do before I leave. I couldn’t think of anything new to add, but there were a few places I wanted to go back to one last time. Holden Beach was one of them.

Holden Beach is a small beach town on the state’s southernmost coast, the thinnest sliver of barrier island. Its narrowness and location make it seem fragile, like it could be wiped off the map completely with another bad hurricane, as it nearly was in 1954 when Hurricane Hazel spared only 12 homes on the island from destruction. But I hope that doesn’t happen. Its year-round population is less than a thousand, but it grows to between 10 and 20 thousand during the peak summer months, with visitors and part-time residents. Despite those numbers, Holden Beach’s eight miles of shoreline never feels crowded, even at the busiest times. And there are no hotels or high-rise buildings of any kind on the island. This, along with a limited number of day visitors, has the desired effect of limiting the crowds. This was not by accident.

For many generations, the island was wholly owned by the Holden family and its descendants, who never sold land to real estate developers. The town incorporated in 1969, and its residents enacted strict zoning requirements that remain in place today and limit the height of any building to 35 feet. It is an anomaly in a country where greed and over-development are the norm. Driving into Holden Beach, after passing through miles of desolate swampland, you climb up a tall bridge that spans the Intracoastal Waterway. At its peak, you are treated to the sight of the expansive beach and the ocean beyond, and the series of homes that line the main avenue that runs its length.

We first visited in 2012, and have been back several times over the years. Each time I reach the apex of the bridge, I am expecting to see a row of new, ugly high-rises blotting out the view. Instead, in 2026, as in 2012, when I drove over that same bridge, I saw that same ocean view hadn’t changed. It was comforting and reassuring.

Despite my fondness for the place, I am not a beach person, though there are aspects that are enjoyable and nostalgic. Such as the days of preparing in advance and loading up the car with as much food, beach gear, and stuff as it will hold on the morning of departure. Long walks on the sparsely populated beach, with its protected sea turtle nests. Ducking under mostly invisible fishing lines fixed to poles and stretched tight against the surf. I have walked under countless numbers of these hopeful lines; I don’t remember ever seeing anyone haul a fish in.

But my ideal trip does not involve sitting in a chair for long; I am far too fidgety. I would much rather hoist a backpack on a train in France than pass the hours sitting in the sun. Besides, I have had too many painful experiences with “bad-looking” things on my skin that my dermatologist has had to freeze off, or in the most extreme case, cut out, leaving me with a painful set of stitches. Despite 90-degree summer weather in early September, my hat and long-sleeve shirt never came off. In between long walks and photographing birds on the salt marsh behind our rental for the week (The birds and the marsh are a far greater attraction than the beach for me), I had long stretches of time to reflect.

The unchanged setting provided a stark contrast that showed how much I have changed since my first visit.

It is a certainty that 14 years ago, on that first trip here, I had my work computer with me, dutifully checking and responding to emails. Keeping track of what was going on while I was away. This time, I left my job at home and was never once tempted to look at a work email on my phone. Back then, in my 40s, I had a career that felt important to me. I also had kids in school and a mortgage. Placing an over sized emphasis on work felt like survival more than an unhealthy preoccupation.

Now I am older, with grown children and nearing retirement; I no longer have a career. I still work, but now I just have a job. There is a big difference. A career was an entity unto itself with its own requirements, a sequence of positioning and moves that progressed to a goal. For a long time, that goal was the next big position, with bigger responsibility and demands. At some point between 2012 and now, I lost the desire to progress on a career path. The price of a better title was too high to pay. I made a conscious decision to walk away, take time off, and decide what I wanted to do next.

I noticed another big change looking at the book in my hands all week: Bill Bryson’s “Notes from a Small Island“. This is not a book I would have considered in 2012, but sometime along the way, I can’t remember how or when, I picked it up. His wandering travel stories became part of my inspiration to travel and explore, and to write my little stories about it. Travel and writing have since become part of my core, activities that allow me to experience a sense of home, adventure, and nostalgia all at once. Prioritizing life over work has allowed me to travel to new places and have lifetime experiences that I will remember forever.

My relatively new and bulky camera and telephoto lens were also my companions for the week in 2026, another new edition. Creativity had been absent all of my life; it was a value I never knew was important to me until I was encouraged to foster it. Rather than sitting on the beach drinking beer, I was constantly on the lookout for birds I could photograph. Not only birds, but sunsets, clouds, and any interesting subject or composition. Photography is one of my favorite new hobbies, particularly when combined with travel. Nothing cements you to the present moment like photography; it forces you to be still, concentrate on your surroundings, and see everything.

With this chapter closing and a new one beginning, I have a few more items to tick off on my local bucket list. However, I suspect none will be as satisfying as this one. While I was driving away, I wondered if I would ever be back. I look forward to discovering the new places that are waiting for me. And who knows, I may find myself missing Holden Beach one day. And if that happens, I know it will still be here, waiting for me, as it always was.