I remember spending each summer, as a child, in a rented cottage
in Hampton Beach, New Hampshire. My dad arranged for a house to
coincide with his plant shutdown, and my family feasted on lobster
dinners as the sun pinkened our skin. At the time, I had no concept
how long we were there, or of a starting or ending point. As a young
girl, going to the beach was 'the summer'. I ran into, and was knocked
over by, the cold Atlantic waves, loving every minute of it. I enviously
watched my older brothers and sisters further out in the big waves,
while enduring my father's lectures about under-tows and small children.
I flew a black and white Stingray kite until the wind took it across
the water where I was sure it would eventually reach France. In
fact, if I squinted my eyes enough, I knew I could make out the
European coast. I consumed gallons of Dairy Queen soft serves, collected
sand dollars, and made best-friends-for-life with children I never
saw again. I had the deepest of sleeps breathing in the ocean air,
still feeling the waves' rocking movement as I closed my eyes.
It was one of the first exposures to bliss I can remember.
What made this time memorable, was that there was no sense of time
as a priority. I assume we went up on a Saturday, but I can't be
sure. The days blended into one long stretch of sand and sun and
water. I wasn't keeping an eye on the clock. My mother let me know
when I had waited an hour after eating, so I was free to fortify
the walls of my sand castle while she dealt with the details of
life. The priority, the point, and reason for me, was absolute enjoyment
of the moment. As children, this ability comes naturally. Only as
adults, trapped by our day planners, must we force ourselves out
of time awareness and into enjoyment for enjoyment's sake.
This past weekend, my boys and I went to my sister's house for
a sleep over. For the first time in days, I was relaxed enough to
eat, to laugh and breath fully. I tried jambalaya for the first
time, saw the Patriots win the Super Bowl, and watched my children
sleep peacefully, unaware of the turmoil churning through my life.
On Monday morning, I sat, drenched in sunlight sipping a mug of
Earl Grey in my sister's breakfast room, watching the boys perfect
their snow forts and prepare for battle. As my oldest added battlements,
my youngest stockpiled more snowballs behind the walls of his icy
edifice, glancing up at me and grinning conspiratorially. Watching
them play, rather than my watch, or my planner, or my to-do list,
I felt warm and peaceful. Only as I prepared to return home to my
list of 'Things to Worry About' did the knot in my stomach and dull
thud in my head return.
It was a clear message. Sure, I'm the grownup this time around,
and I have to be mindful of bills that need paying, laundry that
needs washing, work schedules that need to be followed. Nowhere
is it written, though, that I can't periodically steal a few moments
to return to my own private beach. My kids recognize me as one of
their own and welcome me back.
Blessings,
Catie
Copyright 2004 WomanLinks.com
Catie Hayes is founder/editor of
WomanLinks.com;
a community of support, spirituality, growth and empowerment for women.
She is a freelance writer, the single homeschooling mom of two, and
an avid fan of laughter, spontaneous dancing, cats and chocolate (not
necessarily in that order).
