The Sand, the Waves, Letting them go
This day is as good as any other.
Today could be the day you can finally come to terms that everything you knew and loved might never be the same.
This heart-bending mental process has nothing to do with mental toughness.
It’s not about living without some modern-day comforts for a couple of months. Nor is it about getting used to cooking instead of ordering, Zoom parties instead of clubbing, or browsing through old pics instead of booking the next city break.
The lock-down is forcing us to kiss goodbye (through synthetic nonwoven materials) to all the raw experiences that speak to who we really are.
I.e. those experiences.
Those shivering lights, the lighthouse in the 9–5 rat race. The experiences that feel like a drop of sunshine in gray February mornings, or like the warmth you felt on a particularly cold winter afternoon when the Sun finally showed it’s face.
Some of these experiences might include a challenging trek that got you on top of the mountain, conquering the intricate forest and your body alike. Or the way your skin burns after a full day of sunbathing.
Maybe your bare feet caressed by the tide. That long road trip where you got to know someone and by the end of it you felt you’ve known them for a lifetime. Also, the roar of 50 thousand something people singing along your favorite lyrics at the main stage, conjuring the band back for an encore.
Whatever gives you goosebumps, that’s the experience.
Month of May, the official summer kickoff.
The time when misfits and wallflowers alike are reborn. Just as the days are getting longer and warmer, the smell of adventure should be creeping in closer.
For me, summer comes with the promise of long nights dancing my heart out, not a care in the world. Watching the sunrise alongside the fishermen, going for a lazy swim, tracing the sun and sobering up on the chores of the Bolero.
My hair is always salty, my skin constantly covered in sand, I trade the comfy bed for my tent, luxurious baths for brisk showers, tall apartment buildings for empty horizons and I have a constant smile tattooed across my lips.
Skin gets darker, hair gets lighter.
My tribe is also here.
No matter what went on with our lives, we all signed and sealed the silent agreement that summer will find us camped under the trees, hungover and sun-stroked, free, alive, beautiful and full of love.
The freedom, the friendships, the rum and the coke, the salty smell, the fish being cooked and the cold shower after you come back from the beach. Small things felt with all five senses shuffle around and create the story of every summer spent in that magical place. The place I love with the power of a thousand suns.
The place where time stands still, the world is at your feet. Where night and day melt into eachother, leaving you breathless and powerless, in awe of the simple pleasure of being alive.
But, as life happens, this summer won’t be associated with any of those experiences meant to honor life and truly living. Instead, chances are this summer will be spent between the same solitary four walls you’ve been spending the last couple of months in.
Damn.
No matter how you choose to spend your time in isolation, your reality is the same. You might be binging Netflix, or binging Goodreads, working out or getting fat, staring out the window, or creating art, you do you, but objectively, you’re still stuck inside your house.
It might get lonely, it might get frustrating, it might get comfortable. It doesn’t matter. It’s going to happen either way.
Life doesn’t give a shit.
Normally, I’m pretty optimistic about things, but today is a particularly hard day. So, I’m choosing to whine about the uncaring nature of this pandemic. About the randomness of it all. And rage against the uncertainty of it all.
I don’t know what experiences you’re going to miss out on because of the pandemic. But, if you’re at least half interesting, I’m sure you too have places, or people that make you feel truly alive. If you’re locked up, they’re pretty hard to feel, aren’t they?
I know we should be counting our blessings.I know we should appreciate our health, our circumstances, the fact that we’re isolated under our own roofs and with a fully stocked fridge.
Yes, yes, we are lucky as fuck.
But sometimes, sometimes, we are allowed to mourn the fun we could’ve had.
Feel until our souls scream bloody murder.
Cut our losses.
Be really sad for a day or two.
Then learn to let it go.
The magical place is still there, waiting for us to come back, alive with wonder and fury. We will return and make eachother burn. There’s a sea and a seaside for everyone. The beauty is knowing how to find it.
