Last Days, First Days
SUNDAY:
It is my last weekend in Phoenix and of course, I feel a mix of excitement and sadness, leaving Marika and Mabel and what I’ve gotten used to in order to experience what is next.
Present. Future. This is my mantra. Embrace what is, with an eye on the horizon. And so this morning, Marika and I enjoyed breakfast on the patio while I ticked off of a list of things I needed her help with. And then she listened to me while I bawled with gratitude, because of how supportive she is of my journey.
I said, “Can you imagine for a moment that this is a movie, and here I am, all ready to venture out by myself and suddenly you say OK, I’ll go, and you quit your job and call your friend down the street to keep an eye on the house and you grab some clothes and your binoculars and spotting scope and you and Mabel join me. And everyone in the audience would be cheering!”
She was looking at me with a furrowed brow. “Am I upsetting you?” I asked. “No. I’m just listening.” “It’s like Isaac and Abraham,” I went on. “Abraham was ready to sacrifice his son to God, but he didn’t have to. And I am ready and willing to go on this journey alone, but then, at the last minute you could decide to go too.”
I cried, letting the dream fill the space. And then I let it go.
Because I know this is my journey, my adventure, my (w)rite of passage.
And even though she isn’t going with me, she is a part of it. She helped me get my bike on the rack. She double checked the engine oil. She washed my big windshield. And when I asked if I could have the homemade chicken soup that was in the freezer, in case I get sick, she gave me the matzoh balls too.
She even offered to spray paint the rusted stripe across the hood, but I asked her to scratch something in it instead. When I read it, of course, I cried.
MONDAY:
Last night, I had everything packed in, my driving clothes were set out and I had a short list of last minute things to gather in the morning. I was in the RV, ready to rinse my hands and I turned on the water pump, which I hadn’t been using much since I was using the guest bathroom in the house. But the monitor light didn’t turn on. No pump. I tried a few times and the light flickered but didn’t stay on. No pump, no water. No water, no camping.
I went to bed assuming I wasn’t leaving first thing in the morning. That I would call a mobile repair person and go from there.
This morning, Marika suggested I may just need a new switch, so I unscrewed the cover to the monitor panel, turned off the electricity after I saw some sparking, and we discerned that no, it’s not the same easy-fix switch that we did in the bathroom. So I put the panel cover back on. But now none of the switches lit up.
I’m thinking that it is not the pump, but an electrical problem. Maybe just a loose wire, or something else the mice chewed through or ???
The mobile repair man will be here this afternoon between 1 and 3. And so I am finding ways to be grateful for this free day. I re-made a first night’s reservation for tomorrow night, forfeiting the $14.00 I paid for tonight’s spot. And I rearranged my dates for Austin since I couldn’t find a Saturday camp site and now feel an ease and spaciousness in the upcoming week’s schedule.
I got some work done and later I’ll vacuum the house and make a big salad for dinner.
The biggest jolt of emotion about my change in travel plans is about the COST of the pending repair. Not the fact that I’ve been delayed, or that something needs to be fixed, but the SPENDING OF MORE MONEY that has not budgeted.
And then I am remind myself that money is energy and it needs to keep moving to increase its flow and in today’s I received the check from Changing Hands Bookstore for the books I sold last week at the big event.
I suspect that it will be enough to cover today’s repair. And it makes way for even MORE money to flow.
I am especially intrigued that the issue seems to be electric and that it showed up reflected in the WATER pump….both such obvious conduits of energy and all signs to allow the flow of energy….all kinds of energies…. and to simply let go….
LATER:
OMG! It was a fuse. A FUSE. I can understand that those sparks I saw probably blew the fuse, and that’s why none of the monitor lights worked. But was it the fuse that affected only the water pump or was it something else?
It leaves me curious, but, bottom line, the water pump is working, the monitor lights are working and it ONLY cost me $85.00.
For whatever reason I was not meant to leave today, I am grateful. I enjoyed the breathing room and the opportunity to watch myself respond to an unexpected thing. And I got to talk on the phone with one dear friend and spend some wonderful, in-person, lots of hugging, visiting time with a another. I will be leaving tomorrow, Tuesday morning, venturing out, all systems go.
TUESDAY:
II was all packed up, showered and gathering things to leave. Marika came in to see the working water pump switch. And it didn’t work. Again. I called the repair guy and he said he’d be there around 10. Just before he got here, I turned on the A/C and guess what, the water pump monitor switch suddenly worked.
He had no explanation, and my concern is that it will stop working again, and only turn on when the A/C is on (which can only happen when I’m plugged into electricity). He replaced the switch, just in case, and checked for any loose wires, but he couldn’t reproduce the problem, so he couldn’t fix it or guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again.
I do understand this. Sometimes I have the same experience with troubleshooting with my Mac clients. Sometimes, I just have some kind of magic touch and things are suddenly fixed. So, if I know that happens, could this be that kind of magic too?
Or is there still a problem?
I called a few RV dealerships and they also said they can’t diagnose it if it’s working. And besides that, they are booked through next week.
So I am still parked in the driveway, crying a lot, not knowing what the next step is. If the light works tomorrow, does that mean it’s fixed? Or is there really a bigger issue that needs to be taken care of? I do know that I don’t want to be out on the road with a big electrical problem.
I’m writing and journaling and playing with the dogs. I called a friend. I watched some TV. I’m moving through this, trying to just stay right here, right now, breathing into the spaces between the frustration and disappointment to reconnect with the bigger WHY of the trip. One good thing – I’m going to enjoy Tamale Tuesday at my favorite Mexican restaurant tonight.
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Ready
It is the last Wednesday before I officially head out on the Heart Sparks Road Tour. These past few weeks have been a steady stream of working and readying, prepping and planning, and riding the unexpected bumps in the road.
My favorite swivel chair in the RV broke at the base. After checking the RV salvage yard for a replacement part, I had a mobile welder come and fix it. The RV’s generator wouldn’t start so I had another mobile tech come. He cleaned the carburetor and got it running, but reported that the fuel line to the generator is spliced and he couldn’t reach under the tank to replace it. An RV place quoted $180-$800 for the repair, depending on how easy it would be to reach the tank. I’ve decided NOT to fix it, since I only need the generator if I’m not plugged into electricity, and only to run the microwave or A/C. Everything else is powered by the house batteries, which are charged by the solar panels.
I’ve done a thorough culling of things in the closets and cabinets and I even replaced the plastic runner that protects the carpet. I still have to mount the new fire extinguisher and wash the windows. I’ve made camping reservations for my first night and a few other places along the way where I know I want to be guaranteed a spot.
Each day I cross a few more things of of my to-do lists, while still working with Mac clients, writing my two weekly newsletters and, of course, walking and playing with the dogs.
A month ago, I was still pretty anxious about the trip but now, I am ready. Ready for the excitement of one day at a time, the rhythm of driving and resting, walking and writing, romping and relaxing. Ready to meet so many people in person who I’ve only known through the magic of technology. And ready to share the Heart Sparks love.
A Different Kind of Self-Care by Ruth Davis
I recently had a massage with a new massage therapist. As she was working on my troubled right hip she said, “You do so much for others that you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
“Oh no, that’s not me at all,” I said. “I’m very good at being selfish.”
I felt she was generalizing, assuming I was like so many women who are so busy caring for kids and partners, always doing and pleasing everyone else that they never make time for themselves.
I don’t have kids or a partner or a needing person in my life and so I didn’t see myself in that role of selfless caretaker/caregiver.
But the next day, as I was driving to a client, I felt the opened space between my shoulder blades and less pain in my hip and I remembered the massage therapist’s comment.
And I realized she was right.
I spend the majority of my time working. Whether it’s actually sitting with a client, teaching them something about their Mac, or coaching a group or writing a blog post, much of my time is devoted to activities that benefit others. Sure, I get a LOT of rewards and blessings from my work. But this is not the same as taking care of ME.
When you’re a self-employed entrepreneur, there is always some work that can be done. And so it’s so easier for me to stay busy with work than to make time and space for other things that also bring me joy. Like taking the dogs to the river. And camping. And reading. And writing. And lunching with friends.
And my body is begging me to take better care of ME.
And so I am ready to create some new boundaries with my work. If I want to work in the evening, then I will block out time mid-day for a romp with the dogs. If I schedule a client or a workshop on a Saturday, I will take a day off during the week to have lunch with a friend. And, starting today, I am creating a regular writing practice for my own writing that has nothing to do with Mac Tips and Heart Sparks.
My body needs this. My spirit needs this. My heart needs this. And I know that, the more space I give myself for these non-work activities, the more I will bring back into my work and offer to others. Sounds like a win-win situation to me.
So, do YOU do so much for others that you haven’t been taking care of yourself?
What does self-care look like in YOUR life?
How can you bring more balance for yourself?
How can you give more to YOU so that you have more to share with others?
I’d love to hear your revelations! Please share by clicking on the Comments below
What’s In Your Suitcase?
I love old suitcases.
Not because of any travel romance, but because they are containers. They hold things. Suitcases are sturdy, compact, colorful. They are resilient, protecting and portable. They have a handle to make them easy to carry around.
I have used suitcases to store art supplies and old journals. I’ve used them as end tables in my living room. I’ve even created art pieces in small travel cases that tell a single chapter of a bigger story.
Growing up, my family played the What’s In Your Suitcase game on the long drives between Long Island and Philadelphia where my mother’s family lived.
Each person would begin: “I’m going on a trip and in my suitcase I’m going to pack” and we’d take turns naming objects and items, real and imagined, that we would put in the suitcase. The only rule was that the item had to begin with the next letter of the alphabet. It was a fun game, full of silliness and laughing, and it also exercised our memorization skills.
I’ve played the game as an adult, too, passing the time around a campfire or on a road trip, packing things like apples, blueberry biscuits, a cotton candy colored cashmere sweater.
Then I saw this proclamation by Katrina Mayer:
image by Katrina Mayer
Katrina’s words got me thinking about suitcases in a different way. I envisioned suitcases filled with what we lug around with us from one home to another. What old stories we hold on to, what beautiful dreams we’ve hidden in the corners of the elasticized side pockets.
And then I wondered what my suitcase could REALLY hold that would support me, inspire me, comfort me on my own journey that is my life.
I loved Katrina’s words so much that I borrowed the ones that spoke to me and then added my own:
I am on a journey. With my work, my art, my questions. I travel with a suitcase full of outrageous blessings, inspiring gifts and a radiant life force.
I am on a quest for love, connection and deeply shared joy.
I am a teacher, a writer, a conduit of love.
Then I imagined what physical form those words might take, what objects could I pack in a real suitcase that would represent my outrageous blessings, my inspired gifts, my radiant life force. What tangible totems might support me, inspire me and give me the courage to keep moving forward on this path of love and connection and joy?
And then I gathered them. A heart shaped stone found on a desert hike with friends. A pink rubber cow from the state fair. A three inch laughing Buddha. A sharpened pencil. My favorite Rumi quote.
I tucked these touchstones with my new proclamation in a purple silk bag no bigger than my palm and put the bag in the glove compartment of my RV. It travels with me like a compass and I feel guided, directed, blessed.
What do you carry in your suitcase?
What might you really want to gather to guide you on your journey?
I’d love to hear your discoveries. Share them by clicking the Comments below.
It’s Alright to Cry by Ruth Davis
This past Sunday, yoga teacher Deborah McEvoy and I facilitated an amazing Heart Sparks Yoga and Writing Workshop. We breathed, we stretched, we stood in tree pose and, after Shavasana, we dove into that calm and opened spaciousness and explored deeper responses to I AM and I LOVE with some free writing.
Several women in the workshop shared that they didn’t like to cry or express their emotions because it is a sign of weakness, or they didn’t want to attract attention.
I believe that crying and being with your feelings actually takes great strength and courage. And that, when we cry, we give others permission to cry. Perhaps the people who have told us that it’s weak are just not strong enough to feel their own emotions.
Today’s post is reprinted from my book HEART SPARKS. It’s a reminder for me too, not to judge the tears, but just continue to invite them to flow.
* * * * *
Another Yoga and Writing Workshop will happen in Atlanta, GA on May 9th. Stacey Beth Shulman will facilitate our heart-opening yoga practice and then we’ll explore the opened space through writing prompts. Email me for more info.
If you’d like to collaborate on a yoga or art or ??? workshop with me, I’d love to talk!
I have been crying a lot lately. But that’s not why I’m writing this.
I’m writing this because, for years, I hardly cried at all.
Like most of us, I’ve had sorrow and trauma in my past. But instead of feeling it, sharing it and releasing it, I buried it. I tucked my sadness and grief deep and away, convinced that, if I didn’t feel it, it would disappear.
My biggest fear was that, if I started to cry, to FEEL my sadness, that I would never stop.
And so I denied it, avoided it, distracted myself with addictive behaviors to prevent myself from feeling any kind of vulnerability. And if something happened in my life that did poke at my vulnerability, I quickly busied myself to avoid confronting any deep feelings.
This “worked” for a long time.
And then it didn’t work at all.
I was always agitated. Crabby. Needy. I wasn’t allowing my body to ebb and flow through ALL of my emotions.
Just like the body needs to laugh and sleep and breathe clean air, the body needs to cry.
Crying is the only mechanism the body has to release certain toxins and chemicals.
Dr. William H. Frey II, a biochemist at the St. Paul-Ramsey Medical Center in Minnesota, analyzed two types of tears: the emotional ones (crying when emotionally upset and stressed) and the ones arising from irritants (such as crying from onions).
He found that emotional tears contained more of the protein-based hormones, prolactin, adrenocorticotropic hormone, and leucine enkephalin (natural painkiller), all of which are produced by our body when under stress.
This explains why we usually feel better after a good cry.
Now I cry for all kinds of reasons.
I cry when I am disappointed, when something that was supposed to go one way, turns into something else. I cry when I think about those last precious days with my mom. I cry when my hormones take control of me.
Sometimes crying is me hitting a wall of fear or frustration or wanting to give up. Crying allows me to feel all of those things, letting them out, naming them, and claiming them and then letting them go so I can move past them.
Sometimes I cry without any particular emotion or story, just allowing my body to release and let go.
I also cry when I am full of joy and gratitude. It’s like I can’t contain it, don’t want to hold it in…it’s literally an outpouring of WOW! and YES! and I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE IT!
Crying is emotion overflowing. It’s like the release valve on a pressure cooker, no matter what’s in the pot. Crying makes room for even more.
Crying is a wet thank you. An Oh My God without words. Crying is when there aren’t even any words. Crying is sweet gratitude. Crying is soggy love.
I invite you to try it.
The next time your feelings poke you and you’re tempted to hold back from crying, breathe into the resistance and give yourself permission to feel whatever you feel. Keep breathing into the tightness, allowing your belly to soften, your heart to open, and let those tears roll down.
Trust that you’re not going to drown yourself in an never ending tsunami of emotion. Just hold on, let go and ride those tears to a new way of release.
Reprinted from my book HEART SPARKS: 7 Practices For Loving Your Life
Need a little extra encouragement? Click on this video to watch star football player Rosie Greer sing about crying.
I’d love to hear about your own crying experiences! Please share by clicking here.
So At Home
After the two day drive from Paradise to Phoenix, we are settled into Marika’s driveway with electricity and water and indoor plumbing. This is Home for the next month. Mabel and Cody are still ignoring each other, keeping their distance, but we all hang out in the RV, and in the yard and in the living room and all is well.
I am so proud of myself – I drove a new route and even stopped to visit with a friend before pulling into the back parking lot of a casino on I-10 to stop for the night. We slept well despite the big winds and got back on the road before 7:30, and arrived in Phoenix a little after one on Saturday.
On Sunday I got up earlier than usual, peed in the house, then went back to the RV and slept for another hour, until the chorus of bird songs got me out of bed. Marika and I had coffee on the patio and I played ball in the yard with Cody.
Now Marika is out food shopping and Mabel, Cody and I are in the RV, relaxing. I had Cody and Mabel both playing with me for two good tosses before he got too close to her football. She growled, walked away and carried the ball into the house. I followed her and coaxed her back out and this time Cody kept his ball in his mouth and gave her more room. We played for another short stint then came in here for me to work.
And I offered them a treat. When I took down Cody’s treat bucket, they went after each other. My fault, because I didn’t put them on a sit first. But I corrected them quickly and they were terrific. Now Mabel is in my bed with a small wound on her snout, and Cody is under the table, in his bed, and everyone is finally at ease.
The western sky is darkening and the wind chimes that Marika hung in her mother’s memory are playing a steady tune in the sudden wind. I hear no birds, just a helicopter to the south, out of view.
The roller shade over the dinette is up and my new view overlooks Marika’s backyard with the faded grape-colored block fence, the many shades of greens cacti and the turquoise water of the swimming pool.
We are feeling so at home.
This week I will ease into a full Mac client work schedule, with several errands mixed in: get the RV emissions tested, get a new battery for my iPhone, see the gynecologist and take my bike in for a tune-up. And next Sunday, I’ll be collaborating on the first of many Heart Sparks events: a gentle yoga and writing workshop in Casa Grande, AZ. There are still a few spots left if you’d like to join us. All of the details are here.
Last Week in Paradise
Today is my last Wednesday in Paradise before I head to Phoenix this weekend to begin the next chapter of living. I am always so sad to leave, especially this time, because I know I belong here. This past weekend my friend Judy, who I met at yoga when I first got here in 2012, hosted a going away party for me. Another friend from yoga and my body surfing friend came, a few of Judy’s friends joined us and we ate delicious home made chicken tacos and rice and beans and chile rellenos.
I’ve been going out for lunch with other friends, for one last fish taco at Taco Temple and one more taste of Ruddell’s smoked salmon. And today is my last Wednesday volunteering at the food bank, where I’ve also met some wonderful new friends.
And I’ve been so aware of the beauty of the ocean and the hills and this place I call home.
This past weekend I took Cody for a new walk, along the bluffs just a half a mile north of home. It’s an easy trail that stretches several miles up the coast and Cody roamed and sniffed, bounded and sniffed some more. We even found a patch of purple wildflowers.
I was able to enjoy my own walking, feeling how I walk on the outside of my right foot, and how my body wants me to shift the weight, widen my stance and bring awareness to stepping with the entire ball of my foot, bearing more weight on my strong big toe pad, and into my ankle and shin and knee and thigh and allow my new right hip to open, open, open!
And on the evenings where it would be easier to just watch the sunset from my comfortable chair, I get up and walk down to the beach and breathe it all in.
Last night I pulled down the collar of my t-shirt to expose my heart scar. Rarely is it exposed to the sun, the air, the light. Not because I hide it, but because my shirts are mostly higher cut.
Seven years out, most people’s scars have thinned and faded to barely a white pencil line down the center of their chest. My scar is still thick and wide, a keloid scar, they called it. It is less prominent, less bumpy now, and that section of raised scar tissue has loosened and softened, and when I rub it, it’s like sliding along the frets on a tiny guitar.
Standing there with the cool air brushing against my scar I felt tender and alive, and the sensations ricocheted deep into my gut, into that place that yogis talk about, in the pit of my belly, in my solar plexus/yellow chakra.
And I realized that the fears of the upcoming road trip are officially GONE! It’s all excitement, and WOW!! and looking forward with such an open heart. I’m envisioning meeting all kinds of amazing people, toasting marshmallows at my campfire with friends, me and Cody walking trails, me biking to explore beautiful places, AND selling books and doing workshops and generating $$$ to support it all.
Lenny and Me
Today, February 18, would have been my older brother Lenny’s 57th birthday. He died in 1965 at the age of 7 from neuroblastoma, a rare form of cancer. I think he would have been an architect, a really nice guy, and my biggest fan.
To honor his life and our continued connection even after all this time, I’m sharing a piece I wrote about him in 2001 in a writing group.
My brother Lenny and I were best friends. We shared a bedroom. We loved knock-knock jokes. He was only thirteen months older than me.
Lenny’s favorite toy was his Erector Set. We would sit Indian-style on opposite sides of the coffee table and build things. My six year old fingers were too clumsy with the small parts so I was Lenny’s assistant. I handed him girders and screws and read the directions to make a helicopter just like the one on the outside of the metal carrying case. Sometimes Lenny even let me hold the wrench while he tightened.
Lenny had an operation to remove one of his kidneys and the scar ran like train tracks above the waistband of his white cotton underwear. He liked to run around the living room in his underwear, wearing my red knee socks and his maroon long sleeve t-shirt tied around his neck like a cape. He told everyone he was Superman.
Lenny and I loved the Beatles. We had both of their albums and the 45 of She Loves You. Our favorite part was the yeah, yeah, yeah’s.
On one of our trips to the hospital for Lenny’s chemotherapy, I got to pick out a toy for myself at the hospital gift shop. I chose The Beatles Flip Your Wig game. Lenny and I always fought over who would get to be Paul. Neither one of us ever wanted to be Ringo.
Before Lenny got sick, we played dress up together. He was Mary Poppins and I was Bert. He wore my tan jumper, a plastic wig and my mother’s flowery high-heeled shoes. I wore my favorite corduroy pants and my father’s brown lace up shoes. We knew all of the words to “Supercalifragilisticexpialidotious” by heart.
Lenny had a scar on his forehead from when I hit him with my plastic teapot. We had Crazy Foam fights in the bathtub. He taught me how to pee standing up. He used to shine the black goose-neck lamp on me like a spotlight while I stood on the base of my mother’s Hoover upright vacuum cleaner, singing into the handle.
We both lost our voices from screaming the night my father took us to a wrestling match to see Bruno Semartino. He always beat me at Monopoly. He was tired a lot. His skin was yellow. He got really sick. And then he died.
I helped pick out the clothes for him to wear in the casket but I didn’t go to the funeral because the pediatrician didn’t think it was a good idea. Instead, my mom’s best friend took me and her sons to an amusement park that day, but I don’t remember anything, except the heaviness of Lenny’s silver-banded Timex watch, loose around my wrist.
How To Be An Adventurer
So many people think I am a spontaneous adventurer. But really, I’m quite the homebody. I’m much more comfortable hanging out in the comfort of the RV, working, writing, putzing, than being out in the world, exploring.
And yet that is exactly what I’ll be doing on the upcoming Heart Sparks Road Tour.
And so planning this road trip has been a constant back and forth of excitement and fear, and a whole lot of not knowing.
Some days I play on Google maps, using Roadtrippers.com and atlasobscura.com to find quirky places. Some days I reach out to people in a city along the route to see about getting together. Some days I drive myself crazy with questions that I have no answers for:
How far do I want to drive in a day?
How many days in a row do I really want to be driving before I stay somewhere for a day or two?
How long do I want to be on the road total?
Who do I know along the way?
How many miles off of my route should I travel for odd quirky things to see?
I know I don’t need to have every day and night planned, but if I have to be in Atlanta on May 9 for a workshop, I do need to have some idea of how long I want to take to get there.
So I’m practicing planning and staying open at the same time.
And it is exciting. It is also very, very uncomfortable. Some days I think I should just cancel the whole trip. I tell myself it’s so many miles, so much money, so many unknowns and things to think about.
And then I get stuck.
Sometimes it is the sadness of the lost dream of Marika and I doing this trip together. Sometimes it is the hugeness of figuring it all out. And sometimes the stuckness has no name.
Recently I felt a resistance that loomed larger than the idea of driving across Texas and I had to step back from the planning and sit with what didn’t feel very good.
I realized that I was avoiding taking the RV in for repairs for fear of what might need to be done, and how much it would cost. The RV has been mostly sitting, undriven, for the last two and a half years here it the beach. Things have rusted. Who knew what else might be wrong. And I probably needed six new tires, too.
I believe that money is energy. And energy needs to keep moving. I’d been so stuck in my fears of this looming expense, so afraid to spend money ANYWHERE, because of this pending expense, that suddenly, I was hardly making any money. And that was freaking me out even more.
And then I reminded myself that I had budgeted $2000 specifically for this reason-to get the RV road ready. But because I didn’t actually have the money in my account (it is coming in the first loan payment from my dad), I didn’t think I had it.
But money is energy. And that $2000 has my name on it. So I took the RV in and fixed the rear brakes, a broken spring, got an oil change, and several new hoses. And I only needed four new tires, and they’ll be in next week.
And while I was parked at the mechanic’s while they did the repairs, Cody and I stayed inside and I got to test out the self-containment system, another thing I was dreading. All this time being plugged into electricity, I wasn’t sure if the solar panels were still charging the house batteries, but everything worked. The water pump is making some noise, so I may need to replace it, but that’s actually something we’ve replaced ourselves before, so it’s just the parts.
When I spoke to Marika on the phone while I waited, reviewing what was going to be repaired, I started to cry. “Why?” she asked, and I said, “I’m that much closer to actually doing this.”
So this is me stepping out into a new way of living. This is about exploring and doing new things, meeting people I only know on Facebook and finding ways to be EXCITED about this new adventure.
Into the Ocean
My new bathing suit arrived on Saturday. I tried it on that night and I liked it. On Sunday afternoon it was 80° in Paradise. Lots of families were on the beach and there were a handful of people in the water. I was ready.
I texted my friend Jo, who was happy to be my go-in-the-cold-ocean buddy. While I waited for her reply, I put my suit on, just in case. I sent her a second note and added, “I’m working up the nerve to go alone since there are so many people on the beach.”
I looked at Cody, sleeping off his recent sports-related limp, then I got a towel, put on my water sandals and starting walking to the beach. I had considered just walking down in my suit, then opted to pull pants and a t-shirt over so that I wouldn’t have an opportunity to feel self-conscious.
My neighbor Shirley was standing next to her husband’s new toy, a ‘65 Corvette still in the very early stages of refinishing. I told Shirley I was going in the ocean, that I had hoped my friend was going to join me, to encourage me, but instead, I was doing it alone.
“Good for you!” she said.
I asked her if she’d be willing to come with me. “Sure!” she said. “Let me just get my sunglasses.” She popped into their trailer and when she came back out I asked if she was in the middle of anything. “Oh just doing the watch me thing for Reuben.” I laughed. “And now you’re gonna watch me!”
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll be your witness.”
We walked to a spot on the sand and I took off my shirt and pants with only a flutter of knowing she was seeing me in a bathing suit. Shirley is in her early 60’s and goes to the gym regularly. I focused on my feet in the sand, strong-walking toward the water. The dry sand turned to squishy wet sand but then it got pebbly and rocky as the cold water gathered around my ankles. I was more focused on the sharp edges under my feet than the water.
I walked back to my clothing pile and put my water shoes on. “It’s too rocky,” I said, extra-tightening the straps and reminding myself that I shouldn’t have a false sense of stability, just because I have shoes on.
“OK, now you can go for it!” Shirley said, and I headed back into the water.
The pullback current was strong but, with my shoes on, I felt sturdier, braver, and I walker further out, bracing as a five-foot wave broke a few yards out and then rolled over me, up to my waist.
The water was cold but the sun took the sting away and I kept walking out. Another big wave crashed a little closer and I met the roll with my left shoulder, my body turned sideway.
The rush of the water was almost too much and I almost got knocked over “OK that’s enough,” I heard myself say out loud, but then turned back to the water and waited for another wave.
This time I intentionally let the water carry me so I could ride it. I didn’t get very far and ended up sitting on the bottom, but most of my body got wet.
I felt great. I felt strong. And it was enough.
I walked out of the water, onto the beach where Shirley was standing. “You did it!”
I raised my arms up, Rocky-like, and let out a big WooHoo!
Did I love it? Not really. I got pounded. I couldn’t relax. And it ‘s scary seeing a big wave breaking and rushing toward you.
But I love that I DID it, that I met my fear with strength and stability. And I had a witness! And yes, I’ll try it again. In calmer surf, and with a friend actually IN the water with me.
What big thing are you ready to meet head on? Do you need a friend to help you take action?
