From Float to Flight

It seems counterintuitive, waking up to the same beep-beep-beep alarm on your phone while on vacation. The first few days I simply allowed the sunlight to stream in to my room at 6:00AM, and it did battle in my mind with the lulling pound of the waves until the light won out and slumber was lifted. And it was lovely.

But, for fear of future regrets and mindful of the dwindling days here in the Outer Banks, set my alarm I did so I could be waiting for the sun on the beach. In my mind of course this took place with me sitting Lotus, blissful and unthinking and unaware of flies, wind, or the discomfort of sand on sunburn.

Beep-beep-beep, and I briefly consider turning the alarm off and snuggling in closer to my man (who is 3 leagues away in the ocean that is this King bed). But future-regret-avoidance pulls me up three flights of stairs to the kitchen, where I start the coffee. I make half-hearted attempts to awaken my children, "Do you want to watch the sunrise with Mama, or keep sleeping?" Yesterday they were very excited about this idea, this morning they have chosen the proverbial 'snooze' button. But getting to smell them all sleepy and sunny with remaining hints of sunscreen and new freckles growing was...sacred.

I am impatient and pour my first cup of coffee before it's halfway done brewing, making for a stronger start to the day than usual. I head back down the many stairs - these houses are beautiful and long and skinny and full of steps - and out the sliding glass door, grabbing a beach chair on the deck and heading to the sea.

Things are rarely as I picture them ahead of time, which is probably why I've tried to stop picturing things ahead of time. The sand is too abrasive on my red skin for Lotus, so I assume the Low Beach Chair Position instead. The winds insist my hair fly itchily about my face, and I think, "tomorrow I'll remember a hair tie" but almost simultaneously acknowledge that I probably won't. I curse my racing mind and attempt to focus on my breath, but my cigarette of course makes this difficult. I see myself clearly - not the zen princess sitting Lotus being one with the world, but the harried mom, clutching coffee & cigarette and cursing the wind as I try to grab a few child-free moments before a day of corralling sun screens and sand toys and swim rings and bickering siblings. I'm more than a little bitter about it, and desperate to leave this image behind, always, always aware that there is only three days left...only two days left...only one. I feel like Peace is something I came here to achieve, and time is running out. I feel desperate.

But still I sit. It's cloudy, and the clouds have mercifully given me extra time before the grandeur. I sit. and I sit. and I sit. I have internal dialogues about dolphins playing and pelicans dive-bombing for breakfast, at the same time wishing for silence in my head.

The pelicans though - they've stuck with me. They seem to have two modes - coasting effortlessly across the water, skimming the waves with the tips of their wings - and diving for fish. When they come up, they cock their gullets back and swallow whole. Then they take off - but here is where the effort comes in. Going from float to flight looks like an awful lot of work. Not like the coasting at all. Like lugging beach chairs, not like sitting Lotus. And I think maybe the float prepares them for the flight, and the flight prepares them for the float. And I am smiling when the sun comes up. Effortlessly.

It's a Trap!!

Avoiding a serious (read: sober) talk with a loved one about criticism. Because, really, who am I to criticize someone for being critical? I'm not exactly on solid ground, here, because the go-to answer for the long-suffering loved ones of The Depressed is "You're so depressed & fragile that there's never an okay time or way to offer criticism without being insensitive." And that's, ya know, a little bit of bullshit - but if I'm perfectly honest it's probably a currency I've traded in.

Here's the best time to offer me criticism: A decent day - not the Best Day Ever because then you've ruined it, and the Worst Day Ever When Everything In The World Is Stressful because, yeah, then I'm likely to blow a gasket. (Okay, I'm likely to stomp off silently and go to bed, but that's to avoid blowing a gasket which I assure you is less pleasant.)

Now, this seems like a reasonable request on the surface, but (secretly) I know that it is not. It is a trap wrapped in an excuse. Because for me & my ilk, "decent days" are few & far between. Most days are either Zen Goddess Euphoria Winning At Everything And In The Present Moment or Jesus Life Sucks Make It Stop Now. So, clearly, my expectations include some eggshells to trod on.

And I am, cognitively at least (and always in hindsight) aware that this isn't fair. If there is no appropriate time to criticize me, than providing appropriate methods of criticism is pretty irrelevant, and there's a good possibility I push people to spew my many disappointing habits spontaneously for lack of a better outlet. Which, of course, makes Everything My Fault, or feel that way, making me defensive and incapable of responding to perfectly legitimate criticism in a constructive way.

See? It's a trap. BUT - here's what most people forget:

I didn't set this trap, and I am just as stuck in its jaws as you are.