Unplugged By The Coast
It was seven months ago. That’s the last time I could remember feeling restful, in vacation mode. I’d taken two weeks off for vacation during the holidays when I worked for my last employer. The last seven months have been spent in a shadow of worry, tending to my mother-in-law as she battles cancer, feeling the weight of responsibility and sadness. So, when Scott’s birthday came up and he took a week off work, an escape to the coast was not simply a desire, but an aching necessity. We both adore the ocean!
My husband and I, along with our beloved dog daughter, Bella Rose, set off for a three-day, two-night getaway by the sea, craving the salt air and the sound of waves to soothe our frayed nerves.
Midway through our long drive, panic hit me: I’d forgotten my cell phone. The realization swept over me first as frustration, my mind conjuring all the missed messages and calls from hospice that I’d potentially miss. But as the miles rolled by, relief began to seep in. For the first time in months, maybe years, I was untethered from the persistent pull of looking at, scrolling on, and relying upon a mobile device. Besides, Scott had his phone if hospice or mom needed us.
There was an unfamiliar discomfort at first, and I found myself reaching inside my purse for my phone like it was a binkie in a child’s go bag. But then I noticed the extra space not having a device readily in my hand allowed me. I enjoyed the scenery around me more. I smiled at people, engaged with head nods and non-verbal “what’s ups”. I took the time for mindful breathing. For instance, waiting in line at restaurants when I’d usually be on my phone, I practiced mindful breathing (four breaths in, hold at the top for two breaths, four breaths out, hold at the bottom for two before you begin again).
The beach became a place of healing. Without the hum of a device, I listened more closely to the rhythmic tide, to my husband and Bella playing, to the quiet contentment of my own heart. We had a hotel room with a window that overlooked the ocean and the view from my bed was paradise! Each sunrise felt like a gentle promise, and each sunset, a soft release. I learned to pay attention: the cool wind on my face, the salt on my skin, the warmth of the sun speaking to my soul.
Those three days and two nights gifted me something precious: a reminder that rest is not selfish, but vital. That in order to care for others, I must also care for myself. And that occasionally, the greatest relief comes not from escaping our circumstances, but from letting go of the things – like a cell phone – that keep us from truly being present.
When we returned home, reality waited as it always does. But something within me had softened. I carried with me the memory of that unplugged peace, and the quiet certainty that, even in the midst of life’s hardest moments, a breath of coastal air and the company of those we love can help us find our way back to ourselves.
