It’s been a long winter, and there is more to come. When the cabin fever seeps in, I take solace in the memory of one of the best days in my life so far, spent alone on a beach in Bermuda.
Never underestimate the power of solitude, warm sun, a good book and a can of Pringles.
That’s where I learned one of the most important life lessons for an anxious soul. I still need to relearn it every day.
Eighteen years ago (gulp) I was a university student living on Kraft Dinner, but I had saved the money to fly to Bermuda for a weekend to see my boyfriend (the Carpenter), who was working on the island.
The first day was a solo expedition. I packed my lunch (Pringles and a bottle of water), a good book and hopped the ferry across to Hamilton, before grabbing a cab to the beach. I was a stranger in a strange land. Exciting.
I found a quiet spot on the public beach and there I sat for the entire day, reading a Canadian fiction novel by the author Tomson Highway.
It was a heartbreaking story about abuse and tragedy, the kind that had the potential to destroy a soul, to twist a life into a mess of anger and abuse. No happily-ever-after between the lines.
It was a true story, though, of perseverance and integrity. It wasn’t exactly light reading for a beautiful day in paradise, and yet, it was the perfect book for that very reason.
Whenever the story got too dark, as it often did, I would look up from the pages and stop to breathe in the salt air, the moist breeze making the fierce sun almost bearable. I’d sink my feet a little deeper into the hot pink sand and listen to the sound of the waves rolling in, almost like the sound of thunder, but with purpose, until the waves crested and made a rippling crescendo that dissolved into the patter of timpani as it dissolved on the beach. The ocean was mesmerizing.
It struck me that horrible things beyond my control were happening somewhere, right at that moment. Even the ocean was full of atrocities. It didn’t stop the view from being spectacular.
It didn’t end the mystery of the power of something as fluid as the water, or a force I could not see keeping the rhythm of time. Everything everywhere kept moving on.
I had no idea where life would take me then, or what lay ahead, or that my ride home was my future husband. And for a brief time, I didn’t care.
The waves carried on their determined path ever closer to my chair on the sand. Eventually, the tide would roll in, and just as sure, the tide would roll out.
All my anxiety washed away.
I finished my book in one sitting, forever changed by the story of resilience and loss, with Pringle potato chip crumbs on my towel. It was a perfect day.
It’s been a long winter, my friends. Remember: hope is buoyant.
So are we.
Ride the waves. (Donations for Send Kelly to Bermuda fund gladly accepted).