Be Still, My Soul

I’m wound pretty tightly most days. I am the multi-tasker of multi-taskers. If I were a computer, I’d have three or four windows open at all times, clicking among the tabs, constantly refreshing pages. Driving down the street, I’m thinking about what’s going to happen when I get to my destination, whether there is a less congested route I could be taking to get me there faster, and what each of the children is doing at that moment. I have three to-do lists going at any one time: my bound notebook, my computer task list, and the random piece of paper or envelope I use when I can’t find the other two.

I plan stuff out weeks in advance (“proper preparation prevents piss-poor performance”), and then obsess over every detail until each event arrives. I mention my plans to Rev from time to time, but since I recognize this obsessive behavior for what it is, I keep most of the dialogue locked up in my head.

You would think vacation would be different, wouldn’t you?

We are, at the moment, in a quaint little town on the North Shore. We can walk to the little artist community/harbor/beach in a little under ten minutes. We’ve done some touristy things, indulged our junk food cravings, and window shopped the myriad of knick-knacky things. We swam, a little –the water of the North Atlantic is cold, especially after a tropical storm.

Yet, on Monday, as I drove up with Scooby, I worked myself into a lather because I got frustratingly lost trying to get to the correct road. On Tuesday, I paced the tiny local beach, returning work voicemails about stuff that wasn’t urgent and could certainly have waited until after Labor Day. Wednesday, as I sat on a different beach, listening to my iPod and looking out at the eternal ocean, I managed to clear half of my mind of clutter. The other half was filled with plans for Thursday, when I would return home with Boy to attend his freshman orientation at his high school. (Yes, he successfully completed summer school and got promoted – thank you, God.)

On Thursday, I tried to keep it together as we crawled down the highway, stalled by road work for fifteen miles, frantic that we’d be late for the school meeting. (Calm down, you dummy. It’s a school meeting, with its twin constants of never starting on time and pointless repetition.) I obsessed about what Rev and the kids were doing (touring the Pirate Museum and having a fine time), and where I was going to meet them that afternoon. Power-strolling through the art museum, I kept one eye on the magnificently carved treasures brought back from the Orient by seafarers, and one on the clock, counting down until closing time.

In the background of all of this vacation anxiety was the constant hum of what are we going to do for dinner; what’s the plan for cleaning up the place on Saturday before we leave so I can get my security deposit back; when am I going to find time to get the rest of the school shopping done (where’s that LIST?); what are we going to do with Doodle in the hour before school starts . . . .

I feel like the Billy Crystal character in City Slickers, being pulled along the ground as he holds on for dear life to a stampeding cow: Wait! Wait! I’m on vacation!

This is our last full day at the beach house. We’ll pack tonight and eat as much of the leftover food as we can. Tomorrow, we’ll clean up and pack up and load up to head back home. It’s an hour away, and we have all day to get there. It’s Labor Day weekend, so maybe I’ll catch a back-to-school sale (and cross something significant off of my to-do list).

But in a little bit, we’re going to pack up the kids and go on a whale watch. My goal today, the only thing on my list of things to do, is to think about the open sea and sky. I want to watch the awe and wonder on the kids’ faces as they watch some of those majestic animals diving up into the air and slapping the water in triumph. I want to be in the moment, not thinking about what I need to do tomorrow or what I should have done yesterday. It’ll be an act of will, that’s for sure. Relaxation is not something that comes naturally. I’m not good at it.

The songwriter said: Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know/His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

I have twenty-four more hours of vacation. I’m going to try to relax, and let tomorrow take care of itself.