I’ve said it before yet it bears repeating: when you don’t know what to do, go outside. Or better, whether you know what to do or not or are somewhere in the middle, go to the water. Sit by the shore. Listen to the waves. Don’t think. Think. It doesn’t matter. Talk or be quiet or close your eyes or keep them pinned to the horizon. It doesn’t matter. Water is the element of healing, and sitting at the edge of Lake Michigan I’m not sure what in me needed tending to, only that I’m being stitched up a little more with every breath of Northern air.
Be it a poolside or a pond or an ocean or a river or a lake or a bathtub. Maybe you just need a good long shower. I can’t tell you what it is but there is a reason we use allegory after allegory for the cleansing rain and the baptismal dips. Skip a stone across a glassy surface and tell me it isn’t a small miracle.
When I was small I sat on the edge of our small front yard pond, up to my knees in pond water, palms leaning back on the landscaped stones. Tadpoles would suck the algae gathered on my submerged legs. Sometimes one of the koi fish would come up and kiss my calves.
Today I dangled my feet over the lake, sitting on a rocky outcrop off Cave Point. The waves were quiet, lapping against the small coves, and the water was unblemished but for a group of kayakers. We see teenagers jumping off a cliff edge into the water on our way out of the park. A ten-foot or more drop into the cool lake water that I’ll probably never do, but it makes me happy to see kids do it every time.
Happiness and contentment and peace aren’t really so complicated. If you don’t know where to start, start at the water.
With Love,
Natalie