Just Another (Birth)Day in Paradise


I’m grateful that I excel at a few things in life because I really suck at body-surfing.

The above photo, taken just outside our resort in Cancun last week, shows some pretty high waves; even the pelicans struggled to fish.  Thankfully, they have more experience in the Caribbean than I do.

Here’s what I wrote in my journal the day after my big crash and burn in these same waters.

A bit bruised . . .

It’s so very early on this Monday morning but the sea calls and since my sweetie upgraded us to a balcony, ocean-view room, where else would I be at 6:25?

Still waiting on the sun’s entrance–she sent her minions to brighten the high clouds while I wait.  Pelicans glide by in ones and twos; hard to say how good the fishing is when the surf is so high.

The waves crash hard, as I did yesterday.  It began innocently enough and then my sweetie left to get an alcohol-free fruity drink.  I became like an unsupervised child who wonders what will happen if she wades into the water.

First the toes go in and the next thing I know I’m slamming around with waves slapping the back of my head.

The rationale was good, as preconceived, ill-fated notions go, but I didn’t think it through.

History told me that if I waded out far enough, the roughness would abate.  So I tried.  I’m lucky the wave breaks didn’t damage my hearing and pop out my eye balls.

I didn’t get it.  Others were jumping and diving with impunity.  I was a flailing great white shark.

Finally, blessedly, God tossed me on my a**, a little too hard for my taste but at least He threw to the left and not dead center, otherwise we might have a bigger problem this morning.

My a** would still be planted in the sand.  So I’m grateful.

But far from broken

This trip celebrated my 52nd birthday; each year feels like a rebirth of sorts.  I believe a renewal of birth necessitates a new attitude and belief about oneself, a sense of humble new beginnings.  The rest of the day in which I wrote the words above was spent in deep contemplation while we walked the beach in our roles of sun worshippers.

My rebirth may not be as wide and vast as the captivating ocean, but in proportion to my smaller stature, it feels pretty huge.

The rest of the trip held more delights:  a day trip to Isla Mujeres–the Isle of Women; snorkeling with barracudas and a candle-light birthday dinner complete with classy singing waiters delivering tiramisu, and on our last morning, finally, a real swim in the Caribbean.

You know the vacation is good when you return home and resume life with no feeling of anxiety or getting-back-to-work-blues.  We talked about that very thing on our flight home.

When you enjoy every day–live it to its fullest–you don’t mind when a vacation ends.  My birthday, as terrific as it was, didn’t feel any better or worse than any of our other days at the beach.  Consequently, there was no birthday or vacation hangover.

Blessed be.  It’s so good to be me, even at 52.


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