THE SOUND OF POSSIBILITY

And feeling guilty for having fun...

First thing in the morning, just as the light began to seep in, I would jump up and tear open the door.

Immediately, the room was filled with the yellow glow of sunlight and the smell of the surrounding plumeria trees. But the best part—the thing that motivated me to get out of the amazingly soft and comfortable bed—was the sound of the ocean. Just across the beautifully manicured zoysia grass lawn from our hotel cottage was a private beach and the Pacific Ocean. My favorite ocean sound isn’t the sound of large breaking waves … “Surf’s up, Dudes!” … it’s the sound of gentle waves and endlessness.

Is that a thing? I’m not sure how to describe it. Remember when you were a kid, and you held a big seashell up to your ear? That sound. The sound of possibility.

Photo by Helen Zahrai on Unsplash

The photos of our family trip to Hawaii look like a Trip Advisor Top 10 list of best things to do in Maui. Some of my favorites include the photos of the catamaran boat tour as we sat huddled on the trampoline, awestruck as killer whales leaped out of the water just yards away. Or the eerie yet beautiful shots of the desolate landscape inside a volcano crater that we saw from horseback as we rode down into the basin. The photos of the pineapple fields remind me of our search for Jaws, the elusive surfing hot spot that the guidebook said could be found from the path through pineapples as far as the eye could see. We packed our two weeks full … including a trip to the emergency room for stitches, thanks to the rocks just under the surface at Jaws. Maybe that’s where the name comes from.

This morning, first light came from my sunrise lamp, which I actually love, but it’s not the same as the yellow glow of the real thing. Nor is the sound machine sitting next to my sunrise lamp that has forty sound selections, one of which is supposed to sound like ocean waves that are gently lapping on the shore. I ran out of plumeria room spray a long time ago and replaced it with lavender pillow spray, which is—you guessed it—not the same. I may have leapt out of bed to start the day in Hawaii, but today I hit the snooze button three times. The grass is always greener … especially in Hawaii.

The truth is, I’m struggling to motivate myself to climb out of the rut of my daily routine: get up, go to work, cook dinner, go to bed, repeat. And I feel guilty about calling it a rut. I love my house, I love my job, I live in a wonderful community surrounded by great friends and things to do … but the kids aren’t here.

Oh my gosh! Did you hear what I just did? I knocked myself down from my happy place by reminding myself that half of the house is empty. I thwarted myself again! I must stop doing that.

Since the kids left the nest, I’ve been sharing my fear that all my happy times are in the past. I’ve said it so much that if I don’t stop it will turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy. I know this crazy idea of mine, that I should feel guilty for enjoying my life, or having fun without the kids, is just that—CRAZY. And yet it’s so hard to stop.

There is one thing that’s missing from my effort to recreate those magical mornings in Hawaii, and I don’t need a big seashell to hear it. I need only walk three blocks to the ocean to be surrounded by the sound of possibility.

Thank you for reading and subscribing. Find over 100 stories in my book. Available in paperback and Kindle, click the cover for more. xo, ~Stephanie