On one of the many final days of the co-living in Normandie, the group decided to go to a beach bar - and the beach there. It is this little pointy end of one of the fingers of Normandie pointing into the Canal - a place we would not have imagined.
The sun was shining; the sand was soft and white.
We were all happy yet sad, as we knew the beautiful days of co-living had ended. I played some music looking at the ocean. The children were talking, running, walking, digging holes, sleeping, and playing in the sand. The adults kept talking.
We spend all afternoon enjoying the sunshine, the live band, and the view. In the end, we took a cold dip, breathing heavily under the cold water, taking in the horizon.
The vibe was completely different, warm, cozy, and funky, and someone asked: “Is this Ibiza?!”. We of course knew it wasn't - but the vibe was there.
I feel a lot of sadness after moments like this.
Missing it all. Wanting it back.
I know all pain comes from the distance between how I perceive reality to be and how I want it to be, so I try to flip it around.
To say to myself I trust the process; I would not want it any different; I am grateful for every moment I get, and I would not want them all to be equal. The fact things change is a premise, and I love the adventure.
“This, or something better,” - we often say in our family.
So, I dare myself to understand how the unfolding of things is beautifully curated, and beach days have to be followed by goodbyes, how smiles always have a bit of sadness, and how trusting in life is such an important decision to make.
Maybe next time it IS Ibiza? If I try to have both hands on the steering wheel, I might not allow the important stuff to enter, I might block the true flow of life.
The flow that leads me to this beach in Normandie with these wonderful people.
You know who you are.
Love and light
Cecilie Conrad
# 133 of my 2023 writing challenge - Read them all here
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