The Best of Times

Yes, I am back from the Outer Banks, and yes, I am a different woman. Boy, did I ever need a vacation!

When you work from day to day, seemingly 24/7, you can so easily lose perspective. I get so locked in to my routine that I deaden myself to changes needed. For example, on a typical work day, I get up, make a cup of coffee and some kind of quick breakfast (instant cereal, frozen waffle, etc.), then go plop down in the recliner and turn on the TV. I watch the local news, which is just about as interesting as watching my hair grow. Who bloody cares what the temperature is or whether it's going to rain or what the traffic is like? If I could find something else more interesting to watch, I would. The point is, I feel like I can't just eat without having something to entertain me, and I can't read while eating because I would be likely to get food on the pages of my book or magazine. Ick!

However, since I've some back from being away from TV news for a week, I realize that I can actually eat my food without having the TV on. Wow! What a revelation!
The other thing is this: When I'm in my usual routine, I do absolutely crazy things like mop the kitchen floor even when it isn't really dirty, but just because it's Saturday. And if I don't get it mopped on the weekend, I'm perfectly miserable every single day until I finally get it mopped. It weighs on my conscience like a dirty rag.
But after only one week at the beach, not mopping, I can now easily choose to sit and knit awhile or paint my toenails or read Newsweek or by golly, just sit and rest, without mopping. How did I become so compulsive about mopping the kitchen?
The truth is that I am not alone. There are a lot of us locked into silly meaningless routines because our brains have gotten into a rut. A vacation gives us the chance to rethink why we do things the way we do. Do I mop because my brain is full of guilt and anger over things that happened years ago? Am I trying to purge old regrets or stall off depression? What is this brain-clutter that I call thinking?

As my favorite poem states:
"The new life begins when you can sit still,
even if only for a moment,
and feel the waves of your own breath
rising and falling, ebbing and flowing--
an ocean of diamonds in the center of your chest."

Yes, the moments are diamonds, beyond price, and we should waste none of them. While I was at the beach, an old friend died of pancreatic cancer. Do you think, if she could come back to advise us, she would say, "Be sure and mop your kitchen floor?"