The first thing that hit me as I stepped off the jet bridge and into the terminal was the smell. It brought me to tears. Salty, floral - grandparents. My grandparents. I hadn’t set foot in the Sarasota airport in at least a decade. It smelled exactly the same as every other time I set foot in that terminal across a span of forty-one years. What a small miracle to rejoice in the comfort of that smell. Its consistency in a world where so much has changed. And thus began my five day retreat at the beach. Me time on a grand scale - one hundred twenty hours for me.
I spent the first afternoon, evening and following morning alone before my sister joined me. I remember thinking back to life as a single person and the abundance of time that comes with being responsible for just yourself. (Of course it didn’t always seem like that.) Cleaning up after one person, feeding one person, clothing one person, thinking about one person…and that person is yourself! I picked up a delicious meal and hand washed one dish, one glass, a fork and a knife when I was finished. We run the dishwasher three times a day at our house. I kept thinking to myself, what did I used to do with all of that time? Not only that time but the mental space that accompanies that kind of time?
This trip I really focused on that mental space. I made coffee and watched the sunrise over the intercoastal waterway every morning. I walked up and down the beach for two hours as the sun stretched up over the key. I paid attention to how the sand felt under my feet, cool and soft like sifted flour. I watched the tide change the direction of the sand ribbons on the ocean floor as it came in and out. I tracked the sandpipers and the egrets while the seagulls tracked my almond nut thin crackers. My sister and I drank rose the color of the sky as the sun yawned itself out of one hemisphere and into the next, toasting our grandmother as it slipped away with a wink.
I read Dr. Becky’s Good Inside cover to cover as the afternoon sun played hide-and-seek in the cotton ball clouds. I got to absorb this book instead of the usual five minutes of reading I squeeze in before my eyes can’t stay open anymore. I got to embody this idea that it’s not about convincing - I don’t have to convince anyone of my existence here. I’ve spent my life convincing (I see you Enneagram Four) and now I can give myself the space that I don’t have to do that as much, or at all.
I also spent a lot of time watching the waves as I walked along the shore or in the water. The ocean has always been my touchstone. Its healing powers are one of our family’s core beliefs. Salt water fixes everything. The ocean never changes and constantly changes at the same time. The great truth of life. One morning I stood on a sandbar watching two sets of smooth, gentle waves mingling together as they pushed forward, receded, and blended in the glistening morning sun. The late afternoon/pre-sunset waves like my daughter resisting getting out of bed to get out of bed. Do I have to, do I have to, oh okay…as it flops over at the last minute onto the shore. The waves said to me, in our own time, in our own time, in our own time. We don’t happen until the very moment we need to. We have a purpose and it is simply to exist.
My bags are unpacked, but I’m still unpacking these concepts. Fortunately there is extra room in my mental suitcase.
I made a little video of the morning waves to have for a little meditation when I need it. I’m sharing it with you - feel free to share with a friend.