A Decision to Do Something Else

There's nothing a little sun, sand, and sea can't cure.

Exhale.

I had a bit of a meltdown this morning. One that let me know I needed a news fast, as Dr. Andrew Weil calls it. Too many stories about children being ripped from their parents' arms at the border. Of our country. I don't really want to write about that right now. And on the heels of so much communal sadness around the suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain and so many others whose names we may or may not know. Someone posted a photo of a small child in a cage crying. That was it for me. It's one thing to read about it, but quite another to see it in living color. 

We are inundated with so much sadness and so many situations it seems we are helpless to impact. And after awhile our circuits overload and it's time to power down for a bit. So that's what I did today. 

It's the loving thing to do.

I drove down to the shore to spend the day with a friend. We were completely unplugged and sat out by her pool on the deck, surrounded by greenery and birdsong. Her decks are surrounded by honeysuckle that gifted us with occasional sweet fragrance on the breeze. We pulled drops of nectar from the blossoms as if we were little kids. And we tasted it. It was so sweet. When I walked onto the deck I thought the honeysuckle was a sign I'd come to the right place. I waxed poetic about that mighty vine in last night's writing. 

A synchronicity.


We had planned to go out to get a bite at the boardwalk in Asbury Park, but decided to stay in and order out. Chinese food. My fortune cookie said, "Nothing dared, nothing gained." I love it. I taped it to my keyboard. 

My friend works overnights and goes to bed at six in the evening so I headed out to the beach from her place and walked on the sand at the water's edge. There was a brisk ocean breeze that became bracing at times. It was absolutely wonderful. And I left with the sea breeze in my hair and beach waves. I drove home into the sunset and watched the sky change color. Crossed the river and was back home. 

And I'm writing at night again. 

It may be that nighttime will be my writing time. If this pattern continues.

And unless I make a decision to do something else.





The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months of thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.