I have been pondering lately why it is that I always have to be moving. Why can't I sit still and let go? I still haven't hit on the answer yet. But I was thinking of what things actually help me slow down and breathe. There are two things and one of them has been out of my reach for the last 12 years.
When we went back home this summer, we got to go to the beach a lot, and I was finally able to relax. Yes, I was on vacation, and that is usually synonymous with relaxation. But when I think of vacation, I think of fun and adventure, not laying around doing nothing. Still, at the beach, I could do just that. I wondered why that was.
Then I realized that the beach captivates four of my five senses and I am impelled to relinquish my body to those senses.
The ocean's mighty waves grow, curl, and tumble until they crash fiercely against the rocks or roll gently on the shore. Its beauty and elegance is mesmerizing and hypnotic. I love watching the water recede, taking back with it the seaweed and shells it brought in. The ebb and flow is like watching a pendulum and eases my eyes while its power excites them. The expanse ending in a faraway horizon fills me with space and freedom, allowing me to visibly feel like I have room to stretch and move.
I can feel the majestic strength of the waves as it roars in my ears. I can feel the rushing and waning of the water as I listen to the tide going in and out. It can drown out the sound of all the chatter from the people around me. When lying on the sand, the sound is muffled and less intense, like a soothing mother calming her child. Seagulls calling and children laughing are happy background noises, distinct yet passively audible.
The warm sun thaws the chill from the cool breeze, spreading pleasure and contentment throughout my body till I'm full of serenity. I can fall asleep so easily, wrapped in the arms of sunshine. When I dig my feet into the soft warm sand, it's akin to sticking my feet in a foot spa. I also love the tickling sensation of the sand disappearing from under my feet as the water takes it away. The seawater is startlingly cold on my sun-warmed skin. But the longer I stay in the water, the more accustomed I get, and I'm somewhat dulled to its sharpness.
The smell of salty air is faint but discernible. Taking deep breaths of the crisp cool air is refreshing. When anyone barbecues in Texas, I am transported back to the beach by what reminds me of the smell of bonfires.
And no sunset can beat that of the San Diego shoreline. Oh the deep, vivid reds, oranges, and purples are so much more brilliant and intense than any I've seen elsewhere, blending with the fog and salt to create a painting more real and more beautiful than anything anyone could create.
Maybe that's why my courtship with the man I married was so romantic and magical. We spent more time at the beach together than anywhere else, night or day. Try as I might to recreate the scene in my mind's eye, the senses cannot feel the memory and cannot, therefore, overtake the tension in my body. And I am left to find another source for relaxation.
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