There’s something about the sea that seems to call to our deeper essence. Being a writer who loves to read, I of course had to pair our trip to the beach this year with a book to match the mood. Forget Summer in Tuscany or The Glass Castle − I instead brought along a copy of A Year by the Sea by Joan Anderson.

In this book, Anderson leaves behind life as she knows it for a year in solitude in their family’s Cape Cod cottage. Although I had family with me and four days instead of a year, I wasn’t going to let that stop me from re-filling my cup, if even just a splash. I was parched and I knew it.

When we arrived, the Texas coast was still spinning from Hurricane Alex, which had hit the weekend before. Instead of blue sky and beach, waves reached all the way to the boardwalk. With no beach to comb and no car to roam (we had borrowed our in-laws van and it had broken down in the line for the island’s ferry), I was forced to begin transitioning from “do” mode to “be” mode.

I spent hours on the balcony, watching the slightly comical and gawky pelicans fly by, inhaling the thick, salty air, and watching the storm clouds changing like a kaleidoscope over the water. My mind slowed as my heart opened.

The weather finally cleared halfway through the trip and we bundled chairs and umbrellas and headed for the thin slice of beach. As the heat increased, I happily melted into my chair with my book, adventuring with Joan as she retrieved the bits of her that had been lost in the shuffle of family and a long-term marriage. Then I’d cool off by floating on an inner tube just beyond the breakers with my 15-year-old daughter, just like I did as a girl, bobbing on the water as clumps of seaweed loofahed my legs. On shore, my oldest daughter giggled as clams tickled her hands, burrowing into the mound of sand she held. My husband shredded layers of work stress like snake-skin as he stood at the water’s edge.

By the time we packed up our coolers and threw sandy clothes into bags the next day, my breathing was deeper. I felt myself touching that inner ocean of creativity I dip into when I write – and live. I could only imagine what a longer trip − and perhaps one by myself − might produce.

So this summer, I invite you to slow down and take your temperature. Are you feeling deeply connected to your inner source of nourishment, or afloat? Has your writing been stalled as the tides of life take you in directions not of your design? Joan Anderson took a year by the sea, I took four days… what about you?

There’s nothing that takes the fun out of writing faster than needing for it to be perfect. Really. We all know the feeling. We’re trying to write something and instead of focusing internally on the message, we start thinking about who will be reading it. Not only who will read it, but what they’ll think about it. Our minds go further and further along this make-believe path (which of course we believe anyway), as if we’re psychic, imagining a random man in an easy chair reading our story, shaking his head, and thinking poor thing, perhaps she should have been a waitress instead…

Often this happens with what I call the “big deal” writing project. That’s the one that, before we’ve even begun, we’ve declared is so important that we become paralyzed and resist beginning. Some “big deal” projects may be those written for big publications, ones in a genre we’re not familiar with, or when the last thing we wrote was graded (unfavorably) years ago by our English teacher.

Even writing this newsletter is a “big deal” project. Why? Because it’s the first one I’ve done with my new business direction. Firsts of anything have the potential to take on this big, scary mantle. I’m wondering if this article should be more personal, or perhaps more “how-to” oriented? If it has the style I want? Blowing it up even bigger is that echo from my parents – first impressions are everything.

Problem is that after a while, we start making everything a big deal project, which means we procrastinate on doing it (who wants the stress!), our writing is stiff (gotta make it perfect!), and we focus so much on what to write that will please others that we lose touch with the essential thing we had to offer in the first place.

Thankfully, I’ve found myself in this position often enough that when I notice the first telltale signs of paralysis, I pause. Then I pay attention to my thoughts. I may catch myself saying “This first newsletter has to meet everyone’s expectations on the planet and be better than Tolstoy.” Hmmm… perhaps a little all or nothing thinking there? Impossible standards? So, once I have awareness of the thoughts running in the background, I can see what’s more realistic. “I am going to create this newsletter from a service-oriented, heart-centered place, and hopefully it will positively affect some of the people who read it.” Period.

I also take a deep breath and get into the present moment.  Right now I’m on my front porch, listening to the far-off shrieks of children playing tag. The wind chimes are ringing softly. I feel a slight tension in my upper back, which I’m breathing into for relaxation. As I move less from a mind spiraling out of control and instead focus inward, I remember the message I’m trying to get across. Pared down, it’s simply this – we are enough, just as is. Our writing is, too.

So, for those of you who have a “big deal” writing project ahead – or for whom every writing project feels like that, including journaling in your pajamas – I offer this. Breathe. Come back to yourself. The more you’re “out there” the less you’re in your truth. When you’re in your truth, people will listen – even if it’s not written “perfectly.” So just begin…

Have you ever had a lovely evening out with your spouse… only to see it disappear when someone tuned out? That almost happened to me the other night. My husband and I were having a great dinner and I was feeling relaxed and expansive. Then, he started fading. You know the look where someone’s body is there, but you can tell the mind is leaving the premises. With no forwarding address.

When I asked him where we went, he said his back was beginning to ache so he’d started to tune out. Then, he suggested we leave. I watched my expansiveness shrivel; we got the check, and I started feeling downright chilly.

The evening could have ended there. Instead, we stopped by the bookstore, where I decided to look for books in my own aisle, thank you very much. As I grumpily picked through the books, I realized that instead of being present, I kept blaming him for fading and ending our date. Rather than stay stuck in the past, I chose to re-focus on the moment — on the interesting titles, the colors of the book spines, and the little blonde boy squatting on the floor peering at  pictures. I took responsibility for where I was, right then. As I did that, the blame and disappointment melted. When my husband rounded a bend of bookshelves, I was able to hug him with nothing of the past hanging on. We were simply us again, and enjoying the moment together.

Discover Your Own Pearls: Have you ever had a mid-date “moment” with your spouse that was less than ideal? Next time that happens, how can you use “being in the moment” to shift the energy another direction?

I’ve never been much of a formal mediator. Although I meditate every day, it’s usually not a “sitting down at the same time every day kind of practice.” It’s more “breath as you go” or taking 10 minutes whenever I can squeeze it in.

Recently, however, I decided I’d try a more formal practice, actually waking up early (imagine!) to meditate. It’s been interesting, first of all, to see the difference between where my mind is at the same time each day. Some days I wake up really calm and immediately float into a blissful place as I listen to the gentle sounds of the day waking up around me. Other times my mind is more agitated or scattered, and I get to observe that and release some of it before I move on with the rest of my morning.

Wherever I am any particular morning is fine. The best part isn’t what my mind is doing on any given day – the real gift is that I get to greet myself in a deep way first thing in the morning. This is an intimacy that has been a surprise and a delight. So even though the weather is getting chillier and the prospect of padding over to my little spot before the sun is up is a stretch for me, I’m doing it and the benefits keep me going…

Yesterday evening the first hint of fall was in the air, so I decided to meet my hubby for a date at a nearby restaurant with a beautiful outdoor courtyard. The evening started perfectly.   Sipping on our drinks, we listened to water trickling down a small stone fountain, inhaled the flavors of a rich mole sauce wafting from the kitchen and noticed how blue our eyes looked in the fading light.

Deep into conversation an hour later, I suddenly noticed my energy had dropped. Tuning in, I found a mild headache, stiffening shoulders, and I realized I was shouting.  It was the music. When we arrived, there had been no music other than the fountain and birds. I had vaguely been aware of music starting during our conversation, but it had obviously been turned up louder and louder until now it was at such a volume I had to raise my voice to be heard.

I don’t understand why it is that restaurants, especially outdoor ones, feel they need to create “atmosphere” by cranking up the tunes. Do they feel we’re unable to appreciate the subtle symphony of sounds that happens with soft or no music? Or that distraction is the only way we can enjoy ourselves?

As my husband and I left, retreating to the relative calm of the parking lot, we took a sigh of relief. I started thinking of all the noise pollution we contend with during our day, and how much happens that we don’t even consciously notice – but that our bodies register and react to nonetheless.

Ponder: What are the noises around you at this very moment? Is there a squeaky air conditioner whirring in the background? A barking dog? Rustle of leaves?  Are the noises making you feel more relaxed or more tense? Simply by being aware, we get to choose what our next step is.