Relax, Will Ya?!

As I write I am looking out across a slowly-filling tidal pool, with the ocean in the distance, listening to the songs of many birds, watching the sky fill with its evening palette and…planning my escape.

Already I’ve put up a sign seeking a ride to a beach up the road because I discovered when I got here that there is no bus service to there. I feel both exhausted and restless, dying to know what’s up the road, what’s around the corner. I wanted to experience this whole damn peninsula and I can’t stand that I can’t! I purposely did not rent a car knowing that I would constantly be on the go if I did. I purposely chose this place for all that it has to offer a soul (and a broken toe) that needs rest, that needs to be still, that needs restoring – and it feels like prison! Somebody slap me.

As the driver brought me to this remote site, I was reminded of my father’s reluctance to be left at home alone without a car. We thought he was being silly to complain about such when he had nowhere specific to go, but now I understand that having the opportunity and choosing not to take it is a completely different feeling from not having a choice at all. I can’t seem to do what I came here to do – RELAX, WILL YA?!

Day Two: I wake up and go kayaking with my fun roommate, Shirley, a Kiwi living only an hour away, who has run away from home, leaving her husband and child to manage on their own for a few days. It is a delightful paddle that calms me both in the surroundings and in the fact that this is an activity. Afterwards, I sit on the porch and actually begin to feel as if I want to remain sitting on the porch. After a tasty lunch – sitting on the porch – I begin to get the hang of relaxing and worry that if I get up to go to the bathroom, somebody might take MY space sitting on the porch. Progress. And one point, I think I even napped (the crowd gasps).

That afternoon Shirley and I ignored a fellow hosteler’s warning that we would not be welcomed and visited the studio home of a local – but internationally known – artist, Guity Evelyn. The driveway was edged with simple clever sculptures using natural materials in ways that seemed obvious, but novel. The house was sited perfectly atop a hill with an incredible view of the ocean and the tidal estuary Shirley and I had paddled that morning. With large open rooms and a wall of glass I felt envy -- not for the home specifically, because I can design and build my own -- but because she and her husband knew where they wanted to put their home; they knew where home was. That must be the epitome of relaxed -- to know home.

We were welcomed warmly by Guity, an engaging woman whose manner of speaking has the delightful effusiveness and drama one associates with the French (as she is). An immediate rapport was established, we were charmed by her vivaciousness and talent, and she by our appreciation of and connection to her art.

Then a curious thing happened. When we planned to go to the studio, I had no intention of buying anything. My closest friends know that it has only been in recent years that I can spend money on myself and then it's usually CDs or shoes, both of which I can make functional arguments for. Friend Ali could tell you a story here about the bracelet and earring set I coveted at a crafts fair we attended, visiting it several times throughout our time there, desiring, yet denying, when finally, in exasperation, she convinced me that I really could spend the $15.00 requested. (Hey, it wasn't on sale -- I froze.) So now, in Guity's studio, without any cajoling, without any hesitation, without a blink, I bought five prints. Five. And only one is a gift. The others are for me, me, me. How's that for relaxed?! (Of course, it helped that these prints were on sale. I can't alter my personality completely!) The prints are lovely, full of movement and the surprising thing is that the colors are completely out of character for me -- oranges and yellows. I left content with my indulgence.

Day Three finds me restless again. Yet I decide to stay put, practice relaxation, and hope for a ride the next day. Then Shirley invites me to ride with her in the opposite direction of my intended route and I decide that any movement is better than no movement and, besides, I am enjoying Shirley's company. So I changed my plans. But minutes later, one of the other hostelers announces he is going north, did I still want a ride in that direction? Yes! So I change plans again, quickly gather my goods, and we go, exploring the places I had wanted to explore and he graciously drops me at the hostel in Hahei Beach I had selected. At that point I really should have stopped and put my foot up, but there was one more spot I wanted to see, that could only be visited at low tide which was in an hour. I stopped into the hostel office and noticed that a bus stopped at the hostel at 3:30pm to go to Hot Water Beach, my intended destination. I looked at my watch -- 3:25pm -- gave no more thought to resting my toe, ran to my room (well, hobbled), put on a swimsuit, gathered up a towel, sunscreen, hat, and water bottle and was back out front with a minute to spare. Hot Water Beach is a place where a barely underground thermal stream cause places on the beach to be hot, hot, hot, and you dig your very own hot tub in which to soak. Thus, did I rationalize that as relaxation.

Day Four: I remain at Hahei Beach. I squelch all thoughts of kayak rental, going back to beautiful Cathedral Cove (a long walk for a broken toe), or exploring nearby towns and beaches. I actually go sit on Hahei Beach (minutes away), even lie down at one point (!) and try to swim; this time a two-armed, one-legged stroke. After lunch, I returned to the beach, and was actually content -- finally! -- to do nothing else. Forced relaxation had once again resulted in a momentary spasm of desired stillness.

I wish I understood this phenomenon. It's like I have an internal reservoir of natural caffeine that keeps pumping into my veins. But's it's not just the persistently high energy level, it's the insatiable curiosity, and a spirit that just can't stand the idea that it might miss something. In fact, other than the obvious, one of the things I hate most about the thought of dying is all the things that will continue to go on without me!

Yet I do have moments when I am relaxed, when the brain yields to the body, and the body yields to the world, so I know it's possible. And I have contentedly stayed at a beach all day reading, swimming, walking, playing in the sand, with no desire to be anywhere else, so I know that's possible, too. But is it possible for this current restlessness, this hungry desire for exploration, this nosiness-to-the-extreme to co-exist with happy stillness? That remains to be seen, but I fervently hope so.