Come on in. The water's cold.

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My Galapagos. Part Four. 

{this is the part where I write about writing}

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   Wide-eyed and desperate for an adventure, I booked a trip to the Galapagos.  Despite my initial struggles, I committed and bought real estate.  "But after a few months of saltwater hair and banana rum, the corners of your postcard life are worn and bent.  No longer at a resort on the sand but now trying to survive at a condo inland, reality sought you out and found you.  Far from your family and friends, you crave an escape.  So, you go back to the place that first gave you comfort- the hotel bar."

   As soon as I caught my blunt reflection in the unassuming mirror over the bar I wanted to turn away and forget what I saw.  But I couldn't.  Any moment alone would send my mind into itself.  I would stare at the mirror for hours, days, even weeks, poring over every imperfection and mistake of mine.  At times my reflection wasn't clear enough.  I would inch closer and closer, to get a better view, until my face pressed against the cool, slick glass.  The chill left on my cheek ran down my spine and into my heart, leaving a layer of frost on my good intentions.  By resigning from my life on the mainland and starting over in islands near the equator, I wasn't prepared for cold weather.  This wouldn't stand.

   My days and nights at the hotel bar were my focus for a time.  At first I was angry with myself for indulging bad habits.  Soon, I was even more disappointed when the old comforts didn't bring me comfort anymore.  One night, as I sat with my elbows resting on a comfortable corner of the bar, I untangled my limbs, untucked myself and stood up.  I realized that if I wanted things to change, then I would have to change things, starting with my location.  I tossed a twenty at the bartender. It landed in the puddle my watered down rum-and-coke had left on the bar.  I turned away and began walking. 

   I had warmed that stool for months, the rivets from my jeans leaving their distinct marks on the wooden seat, as I glanced at the sea a few million times too many.  Tonight, I was going in the water.  As my steps traded cement for sand, I stopped.  I wanted to feel every second leading up to the plunge.  As I looked down and slipped off my shoes the wintry winds blew my hair across my face.  I swept a clump off my eyes and held it with one hand while I grabbed my shoes with the other.  When I glanced back up, I tried to discern where the ocean began.  I saw nothing.  A dense fog had crept in and stole the shoreline and the stars.   I swiveled and saw the twinkle of lights dangling beneath the thatched roof's silhouette.  I thought about turning back and folding into my barstool once again.  No.  My legs were tired of sitting.  It was time to run.

   Into the darkness I leapt, following the sound of waves pawing the shore.  The closer and closer I came, the more and more I could feel the approach of the sea.  The rhythmic waves of the water sent a swell of salty air rippling from the tip of my nose to the ends of my hair as it trailed behind me.  Then the cushiony sand, crushing beneath my feet, turned to swamp and was swallowed into the tide. 

   Well.  There I was.  In the water.  The frigid waves had barely dampened the hem of my skirt when I dove in.  As I came back up to the surface and breathed in the warm air, I was insulted by the coldness of the sea.  I didn't move to this tropical locale to feel anything but warmth and pleasure. Yet, I didn't run back to the cushiony sand.  I treaded water, staring at the shore, and began to enjoy the shock- if for nothing else than its ability to make me look at the world differently. 

*******

 

 

   I wouldn't say I'm chasing my dreams.  I'm really trying to rid myself of stories.  The stories that play over and over in my head need to leave.

 

 

 



   I do realize I've been trying to find more time for writing since even before I wrote this well over a year ago.  Finally, I decided to quit waiting around for my little village of support to rescue me, considering my husband has stopped reading my blog altogether.  At times his excuse, "I don't even know how to find your blog," leaves me speechless and hurt.  (Ahem.  Google it.) Other times his lack of enthusiasm for my writing is completely understandable and even expected- it's my life, not his. Regardless, I turned my focus inward and spent the last five months rearranging my world.  Though I am a much better wife and mother for all of my efforts, it still didn't create more time, more energy, or lessen my fears.  Therefore I must dig deeper, sleep less, and slash the social calendar.  I will get this done- even if it's just me, treading water, alone in the night's cold waters.