I take off my watch and vow not to pick it up again until the day I leave.
I have come to the ocean for respite from allergies and for the need to clear my mind of the clutter I've invited willingly and unwillingly.
I will sort through the junk drawer; I take out the pieces that haven't belonged anywhere else, the pieces that need to be thrown out, but to which I hold onto. I must find a place for that, a cupboard for this and return a borrowed item.
I will shuffle, rearrange, toss out--debilitating thoughts, negativity. I will search for the courage to apologize to myself and others. I will try to do better; I will look under the bed for the confident little girl who just knew. I will darn the socks with holes.
Cleaning this junk drawer takes vigilance and a voyage to the sea.
For the ocean has a way of healing.
Long walks; dolphins in the shallow surf. Children running from the tide. A bench to sit down on. Regret at having never mastered surfing. Trudging through bubbles with bare feet. Eating the first wave in the kayak. Tumbling about, hoping no one notices. Hoping the lifeguard doesn't park his Subaru in front of me. Shuddering at how cold the Pacific can be. Paddling back through the surf after that first wave. Feeling strong when I carry the kayak back to the garage.
Humbled, fighting back, learning to triumph in spite of all the waves that stand in my way.
I have come to the ocean for respite from allergies and for the need to clear my mind of the clutter I've invited willingly and unwillingly.
I will sort through the junk drawer; I take out the pieces that haven't belonged anywhere else, the pieces that need to be thrown out, but to which I hold onto. I must find a place for that, a cupboard for this and return a borrowed item.
I will shuffle, rearrange, toss out--debilitating thoughts, negativity. I will search for the courage to apologize to myself and others. I will try to do better; I will look under the bed for the confident little girl who just knew. I will darn the socks with holes.
Cleaning this junk drawer takes vigilance and a voyage to the sea.
For the ocean has a way of healing.
Long walks; dolphins in the shallow surf. Children running from the tide. A bench to sit down on. Regret at having never mastered surfing. Trudging through bubbles with bare feet. Eating the first wave in the kayak. Tumbling about, hoping no one notices. Hoping the lifeguard doesn't park his Subaru in front of me. Shuddering at how cold the Pacific can be. Paddling back through the surf after that first wave. Feeling strong when I carry the kayak back to the garage.
Humbled, fighting back, learning to triumph in spite of all the waves that stand in my way.
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