My cottage by the sea.
An easy hour and a half drive from home and here I am at my cottage by the sea. It was just a year ago that I came here for the first time, so on first glance everything is familiar and I’m prepared for the same routine. For example, I know that I want to read and relax in the living room (which I call the deck) because it is right on the ocean, facing due east; and I know that it is high tide when I look out the window and see that the waves have covered certain rocks along the shore.
But I have forgotten how difficult it is to settle into really being alone. The cottage is silent, but my mind is full of chatter. There’s not a soul around, and yet images of family and friends pop up as I wander from room to room. My calendar for the next three days is blank, but the myriad choices before me do not suggest simplicity. It’s going to take determination and concentration to get out of my head, to stop thinking.
Okay, I’m going to take a walk along the beach and practice being in the moment--- with the water, rocks and sand, sea gulls, and clouds. Off I go. I’ll report back.
Me on the beach.
I’m back after a glorious hour and a half walk, feeling more grounded and present to it all--this cottage, the rocks, the calm sea, the silence. This is why I sometimes like to be alone—to experience myself in the moment, to let feelings and thoughts wash over me and rest with me. And then there are the thoughts that only seem to come when I’m alone. Today along the beach I told myself how happy I was. “But is that fair,” I asked, “with all the suffering in the world?” Well, maybe, just maybe, if I can feel peaceful, I can better be there for someone else. It's worth a try.