Yesterday afternoon, I was feeling a bit low, thoughts were scrambling in my head, not making much sense. I needed space and clarity. I needed something to touch my spirit, my soul, to bring me out of the blues. I am okay with sadness, my deep feelings of loss, my missing Scott. I know opening my heart, doing my meditations, crying, talking to Scott is healthy. Going low, feeling down, and skating across depression is not good for me.
I am one that needs to go out and travel the back roads. My spirit and soul, my mind needs nature. I have family and friends that can stay home for several days to weeks to months at a time, never going out except to run errands, and they are perfectly fine and thrive doing creative projects at home, puttering around, and living in and from their nest. I am not that type of personality. I have to go out and explore. I believe that is one of the reasons Scott and I got along so well. We both needed to go out everyday and search for new experiences and sights. If we skipped a day, we could feel it. I said to Scott \”we are like sharks, we have to keep moving, or we die\”.
I mean\’t die spiritually. Yesterday, I felt myself going down. I thought, what would Scott do. The answer came immediately, he would go to the beach. So that is what I did. It was raining, overcast, a wet winter day in Sonoma, and I headed for the beach, a forty-five minute drive west.
When I got to Doran, the sky was a dream of clouds and light. Three surfers swam out to tame waters. The sea was calm. Sandpipers dug in the rich caramel colored sand searching for tiny crabs to scoop and eat. I followed their zig zag line of crisscrossed tracks to the water\’s edge and watched a fading yellow boat sway back and forth across the water. I took a couple of photos and then my batteries died.
At first, I was disappointed the batteries were out in the camera. I wanted to take photos of the surfers when they caught a wave coming in. I shook it off and started beach combing. Within seconds, I was glad the camera rested. I lost myself searching for shells and polished stones for our altar at home. I selected a few, placing them in the pocket of Scott\’s fleece jacket, the one I will wear until I am no longer here or until it falls apart and can no longer be worn.
Watching the sandpipers, the surfers, the few people walking their dogs, the dogs excitedly prancing, their paws dipping in and out of the saltwater, pressing prints into the sand, I felt my spirit rise, my mood lift, and my hope return for my life, while I continued my walk along the beach.