Tag: ocean

Baby by the Ocean

Beth DeFries1 Comment

Last summer, while visiting Portland, Maine over the Fourth of July holiday, we went with some friends to a beach in another coastal town nearby called Cape Elizabeth. It was a warm day, though not sweltering, but the shimmering water still looked inviting and we were determined to swim.

We abandoned our beach towels and coverups and approached the water with the knowledge that it would probably be cold. Reality hit with a frostbiting splash with the first steps into the waves. I thought of children by the beach in our shore town back home and of kids we’ve seen on vacation who, determined to jump into the pool first thing in the breezy mornings, would drag their less than excited parents to the poolside to participate and supervise and it made me wonder if discomfort is a learned behavior rather than an innate one.

How is it that a baby by the ocean can be so eager to continue splashing in the shallows even after that first icy touch? In that moment, I wanted a share of that sense of freedom and uninhibitedness, so I held my breath and dove into the crest of an oncoming wave. Submerged and compressed by the cold pressure under the surface, the water invigorated me, stunning my nerves, smoothing my skin, and spreading my hair out behind me.

Breaking through the surface, I gulped the July, Maine air, blood rushing back to my face, cheeks too hot despite the breeze on my chilled skin outside the water. A baby giggled and squealed in the shallows, eager to stay at the edge, daring and alive and oh so happy.

After that trip, I began to will myself to be like a baby by the ocean whenever I was faced with a difficult, but necessary situation. The words became a mantra that helped me through some challenging situations this year and I continue to find myself thinking of them.

The unknown can be frightening, but it was not always that way. The fear develops from the context of our experiences as we grow. Babies seem to approach the unknown with curiosity rather than fear and I envy that in them. I want to stand on the verge of an ocean of possibility, propelled by an insatiable curiosity for the future. I will abandon fear with my beach towel on the sand, excited to dive into foamy crests and come alive no matter how biting the water may be. I can follow the sun, break through the surface, and gulp in the air when I must.

And if you look closely from the shore, you will see me shine and the tide will change. The waves will pull, rise, and crest and I will follow. And for it all, I will be different when we meet again.

One Deep Blue

One Deep Blue

Beth DeFries3 Comments

Sitting on the balcony with a cold beer and and the expansive view of a white Atlantic, the muse returns. Escorted on the arm of a gentle breeze on this cool August evening, it seemed as good a time as any to pursue its inspiration.

The sun climbs down the hill behind us after a long day’s journey and the blue and gold sky fades to periwinkle, clouds towering like tidal waves above the horizon, preparing to swallow the shore. The street lamps on Sandy Hook ignite in a synchronized splash and pairs of headlights make their way homeward or adventure bound.

Summer is in full swing though the humid haze called in sick. We don’t miss it.

Nights like these, you can hear yourself think and even turn that off if you wanted to. I tune in to a symphony of birds, crickets, and the exhalation of car engines in the distance. Air conditioners take a well deserved rest and their lack of participation is welcome.

Our eyes adjust to the dimming dusk as the river mirrors the sky. Long Island twinkles animatedly in the distance and the JFK departures rise slow into ombré velvet, brushed just the right way.

I pull up a cozy throw of summer air under my laptop and nestle in with all the other nestling buildings, plants, and people. Together, we all fade from view into one deep blue.

No Hurries, No Worries

No Hurries, No Worries

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Fully breakfasted and armed with a steaming mug of chamomile and honey, I sit on our turquoise couch, which is turning more green than blue from soaking up the frequent eastern sunshine that streams through our living room windows. Outside those windows waits a perfectly clear fall day. The “Big Blue” suits its nickname this morning, sparkling dreamily up at me. Sailboats drift calmly in a gentle, southward wind and speed boats bounce excitedly on the surface of the water, trailing long, fluffy, white tails.

With only wisps of clouds on the distant horizon, sweeping glows of sunshine, and a cool, lazy breeze, today is simply beautiful and I feel lucky to be an audience to it, comp-ticketed for no reason other than that this is where we live.

We have only one errand to run today and the rest of the time is open and changeable as the Big Blue. Sometimes, having nothing much to do is exactly the right medicine for an overworked mind.

As an over-planner, these sorts of days can be confusing, sometimes even frustrating, to me. Sometimes, I’ll think, I should have planned something to do with all this time; what a waste. Sometimes, I chance upon these sorts of days after cancelled plans or changes in weather patterns and am bored, longing for an activity that I do not have to brainstorm and choose. This is not the case today and I’m excited to make the plan as we go, lagging behind the heels of the day as they race on ahead of us toward midnight. We are in no rush to catch up.

My usual wandering mind is calm and quiet this morning, patient and relaxed, just waiting to go with the flow of where the cool breeze takes us. I am grateful that my brain is not buzzing, as usual, with the need to tidy or plan, to start and complete work tasks, or to make decisions. This morning, it is just living in the moment and that is exactly what the rest of me needs.

I feel calm and rested for the first time in over a week, the anxiety drained out of me and replaced with pleasant, positive thoughts and soothing warm tea and honey to balm the wounds. Looking out at the ocean, twinkling reassuringly, I am reminded that I am in exactly the right place and that I want to go dip my toes in the Atlantic’s crisp, chilly shallows later on, just for a moment, before I chicken out and hide my feet in a blanket of cool sand.