Wholly Whole

I was finally able to walk alone on the beach yesterday. No sense of loss separated me from the crashing surf sending salt spray into the air. Memories didn't tug me into melancholy. I could simply sit and become lost in the movement of the water, an afternoon sun rippling across its surface as seaweed trees bobbed in the wave action of the surf rising and falling.

 Between 1977 and 2010, my visits to the ocean had been shared with my late husband. I've tried walking along the shore since then but the loss of his companionship has not allowed me to feel the usual comfort. Yesterday I could be there and really sit in the moment without a wish or a regret. The moment felt full and ripe in its own flavor. I regretted nothing. I had no need to let any anger or upset bubble up and release itself into the gentle wind. Anxiousness or worry about the past or future did not cloud the simplicity of being in a ‘now’ moment.

 Afterwards I felt no lack, no ‘I should haves’, not one iota of a missed opportunity to work on myself, to be more or less concerned and working out the details of some upset.

  I couldn't tell you what I was feeling before, during, or afterwards this hour in the afternoon sun but something like an emptiness and a fullness at the same time.

  I happened to be on the coast for a four-day writer's conference, jam-packed with critiques, lessons on scene creation, arching plot, characterization, balance of action, emotion, and theme, as well as how to pitch a book to an editor or agent.

   I passed through stages of nervousness, elation, depression, anger, and acceptance. Overwhelm and under-appreciation found new benchmarks. These rises and falls were much like these ocean movements I experienced after the gathering. I didn’t have to hang on to any one of these emotions. They passed as part of the texture of my life being lived in all its glory.

   I learned about my craft, my heart's passion to create a worded piece of art, and found a tribe of like-minded individuals to join.

  I've deemed this year as my 'coming out' year. So far I've begun repurposing a few blogs as monologues and have performed them, sung a solo with a banjo backup in front of over 100 people, developed and performed a five-minute clown sketch, impersonated Meryl Streep, tried out for a play, and offered the last draft of my second novel up for agent critique. That's just the tip of my personal iceberg. Stretching feels good.

  And, the ability to walk along the shore on my own two feet, to feel my body and mind relax into its awareness of self and circumstances without resistance but acceptance reminds me that with time and tide we each can become whole and wholly who we are.

   Today gratitude abounds.