I am back at my keyboard after a two-week break. I told myself I was going on 'holiday'. And so, off I went. Heading for the sea in my little van. To be in my happy place. Or so I thought.
Turns out there's more to it than just the proximity and presence of the sea. It took experiencing what I didn't like to realise what it was that I was craving.
In the last couple of years I have been incredibly fortunate to have experienced wide open beaches with barely a soul around. So, it was a shock to arrive at one of my favourite places and see hundreds of people enjoying the unexpected hot weather in September.
Groups of people all over the beach were set up for the day with windbreaks, parasols and camping chairs. Noises, barbecues and so many temptations for a curious dog. Certainly not how it was last time I was there in February.
Then, to add to my discomfort, at 4pm the jet skis began to arrive. Huge trucks, driven by huge men, towing huge beasts of machines which they launched into the sea to be driven by the tiniest of young girls. The noise is probably all part of the thrill when you are riding one, but for those in search of peace and tranquillity the penetrating whining sound, rising and falling rapidly, with the whomping as they hit the water, is unbearable to a sensitive soul like me. Fortunately, it would be dark by 8pm, so only 4 hours to contend with this invasion!
Clearly, a popular beach in a heatwave is not for me. The next morning it was time to move on and now realising that it was wide open spaces and peace that I was seeking I headed inland to a remote working farm with a small campsite.
Not a sound to be heard. It was simple and basic but just what I needed. Open views of the hills, no connection to phone or internet and plenty of amazing walks direct from the campsite. Walking with Murdock in the hills was restorative and invigorating.
It's made me wonder about how we can get fixated on something we think we want, but actually when we dig a little deeper it's a feeling we are searching for, and that may be found elsewhere. Being open to noticing what really matters to us allows the possibility of new learning and experiences to emerge. This is what makes life an adventure.
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