summerland

I want to write about being in the moment.

I was at yoga today (first time in a month -- hooray!) and I was trying to be in the moment, to be on the mat, to feel my body, and the room around me, and let my breathing anchor me. But I was so caught up in the directive that I began to let my thoughts drift to why I seem never able to be in the moment and to those few times that my somatic experience is so overwhelming that I can do nothing but be present.

We just went on vacation. Well, vacation is a relative term. It was very nice - a trip to the Chesapeake Bay to stay with some friends and then we stayed on after they left and Larry painted the vacation house while I hung out with the kids. It was very much a vacation while we were all hanging out together. It was great actually, and though it is not the place I would choose to go to rent a house (I'm much more of an excitement, adventure type traveler than an r and r type), it was great to be in a great big house with a great big group. Truthfully, I was more than bored by the end of the week and ready to get back home, where, banal, it's true, my life and all its list of goals lay waiting for me to swing back into action.

The height of the weekend for me was the single moment of action. Perhaps I should begin by saying that I have had almost no sex drive since Joey was born, which is very different from when Dylan was born. My life has seemed so externally up and down and my stress level has been so high between working, moving, and two kids. Now, suddently my stress level was way down, Larry and I were able to enjoy each others' company in h the face of having nothing to get accomplished. By the bay, the still waters inside me began to move. I was feeling sun-drenched, lithe, easy. With the chance to hand off the baby, I felt suddenly able to move, to let my arms and legs stretch. I found myself wrestling with Dylan. I felt myself drawn towards the great blue waters.

So when a neighbor swung by the pier I was standing on and tried to convince som guys to go for a ride on his jet ski, I spontaneously raised my hand. The driver instructed me to grab a life jacket and meet him on the beach, which I did. I hopped on and grabbed the strap as he indicated. We turned out - towards what? Boats passed at what had seemed to be from land very contained speeds - a yacht, a sailboat. "This is going to be bumpy," he said. Did I mention that I'd never been on a jet ski?

"Holy shit!!!!" We rode the waves way off into the air. We collided back again with the water, and then off again, catching air. "Whooo hoooo1" I screamed into his ear. I had just eaten some guacamole and was certain my breath was terrible, but here is where my mind just couldn't get one over on my body. My mouth just opened up and sounds just flew out. It was terrifying and freeing.

We hit the smoother waters of an inlet full of green, green marsh grasses and long legged birds. The driver sped up and my stomach lurched into my throat again. I managed to calm down only when I stepped outside myself. "You're a good swimmer," I told myself and you're wearing a life vest." Then I realized that at this speed, hitting the water would be like hitting the pavement from 10 stories up. The only thing between my present reality and that momentary fantasy was a thin red strap and I held on for dear life. I wanted to puke and cry, but the wind was on my teeth and animal sounds continued to fly from somewhere deep within me. They were sex sounds, primal and beyond thought.

I was grateful when he cut his ride short, possibly to end the agony of my garlic breath hot in his ear, and dropped me on the soft sand. But felt loss, too, as I always do - the moment - again - was gone. During the ride, all I could think was "get me back" and now I was and wanted to be out there again. "My husband's going to be jealous," I said. He looked at me quizzically. "I mean - of the ride."