Sunday, March 29, 2020

Twelve: Not Knowing When

March 20.
The county will be closing our beach tonight at midnight; coronavirus precaution. Chris, Natalie and I are here for one last time. For how long? People have been saying the uncertainty is the hardest part. So true.
 The sun is in the west and the yellow-flag waves bubble up onshore, mesmerizing to watch. A breeze blows off the Gulf and carries a salty mist with it and I soak it all in.
Olivia and Jacob are home, so our house is wonderfully full. I have missed my kids and am so grateful to have them back. We are all aware that being quarantined together in a 3-bedroom, 2.5-bathroom house could be a recipe for disaster; it could also be fun, and maybe even a productive opportunity to help each other get things done. Hey, a girl can dream!

I'm reading the Handbook to Higher Consciousness by Ken Keyes, and it's so good I have to write about it, even though doing so veers me away from any talk of the coronavirus. So be it.
One of its amazing insights is to realize when I'm "addicted" to something and change the way I think about it. We aren't necessarily talking about drugs and alcohol. For example, I've realized I'm addicted to the idea that Courage Without Grace must be picked up by an agent and published. I want it so bad, it hurts, which makes my desire an addiction.
I have so much anxiousness around the whole publishing process that I can't see clearly. Can I change my addiction to a mere preference? I certainly prefer that Courage be published, but can I still be happy if it isn't?
Keyes points out that when we see everything as a preference, we lose our intense negative feelings and gain clarity and effectiveness. I would like that a lot. And in this moment, sitting here by the sea, I'm sure I can be happy no matter what.
The sun has gone behind a cloud, and it's turning chilly. We're talking about dinner and it's time to go home. We'll leave here not knowing when we'll be back, and I want to cry.
And for the record, I'd like to add I prefer the beach stay open, and that the coronavirus just go the hell away.
Photo credits: Chris Zokan

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