‘One true thing.’ That’s a prompt a friend of mine shares when we are stuck in our writing. When things feel forced or just a little bit off. Like a note that is close, but not quite in tune.
The invitation is to simply write one true thing. It can be anything. It can be as simple as the apple is red. Or, all I want to do right now is go to bed.
Or, last night I watched TV, rerun episodes of “Suits.” Three episodes. And as I watched I piled my plate with an apple, cheese and pistachios. Alternating a slice of cheese, a bite of apple, a handful of nuts.
A delicious treat in the beginning. But like the episodes, I didn’t stop. Even after I felt full. Even after my belly started aching. Even as I sat on the couch for three hours without moving except to get a glass of water, go to the bathroom, get another handful of nuts.
I came to the end of the night exhausted, wondering what I had done. Why did I sit there, almost hypnotized for three hours? Why did I stuff myself beyond full? And I went to bed grateful that the day was done, and I could slip into the oblivion of sleep.
But I woke the next morning with a jolt. Thoughts of the previous day tumbling into my head before I could catch them. There they were and I was fully awake, already anxious. Frustrated that this new day, this brand-new baby day was already lost to me.
But somewhere underneath the chatter I heard a different voice. Insistent. Go find the magic. Go find the miracle. Go to the sea.
There was a list of things I was supposed to do that morning, but I grabbed that thread and held on. I dressed, snatched a bite and headed down. As I walked, my attention was pulled to what was around me. Trees coming into bud, a woman and her poodle. Kids saying goodbye to their parents then rushing off to meet their friends at school.
Then across the street and onto the boardwalk. Taking off shoes, feeling the relief as feet sank into the sand. Making my way down to the water’s edge.
I walked along the shore and found my perfect spot, a slight promontory where I could look out at the horizon. As I smoothed the sand beneath my feet and settled, the thoughts eased, the tumbling quieted. It was just the endless sound of the waves. Heart slowed, breath deepened. I inhaled, taking in the scent of salt. Relaxing into the mystery, power, freedom of that place.
I have been blessed to live by the ocean for 30 years. And She has held me through so much. She is where I go when I need to release the depths of emotion that cannot be contained in a room. Grief, yes. Rage, yes. Disappointment, yes. But also joy. Also gratitude. Also love. Also pleasure. She can hold it all.
When I am spinning in doubt and fear, I lie on the sand, arms spread out, feeling the sun on my belly, held. And when I am overflowing with joy, I wade out into her waters and dance. In honor, in celebration, in overwhelming gratitude that I am alive.
For me it is the ocean. For you perhaps it is the mountains, the forest, the river, the desert. It is a magical place where we can find respite, solace, healing, freedom, magic. Where all of us is welcome.
True, eventually we must go back to the life that is. The future that awaits.
But hopefully, when we return, we are more centered, more certain, more calm, more fortified, more ourselves.
And in all of this, remember, we are the treasure worth finding.