Before I left for vacation and turned off my notifications, I kept seeing this trend on social media about people romanticizing their lives. The idea being that as you go about your normal, daily, rhythms you look for small things that feel magical and whimsical. I totally understand the importance of looking for things to be grateful for especially when you’re in a stagnant or difficult season of life, but I also see way more value in realizing that there is so much of my life that never has to be romanticized. It’s already really wonderful. I’ve found myself lost in that idea up here on Beaver Island this week. I’m on an isolated island two hours out into Lake Michigan where I almost never look at my clock, and the entire point of being here is to unwind. That alone offers a magic that refreshes my soul and grounds me for the upcoming year.
There’s this place on my favorite beach where the waves come together from separate directions at a peak in the shoreline, and as they cross they make this spectacular, symmetrical, flowing shape. That’s not exaggerating anything. That’s just a poor description of it. You should see it in person. I get to, and that’s real. That’s beautiful.
On night one of vacation, I laid down in the middle of a dirt road with some of my favorite people and watched a meteor shower. Nothing but dusty sparkling stars everywhere we looked, speckling the midnight blue atmosphere, the moon so bright and brilliant that in a field with no light, facial expressions were illuminated. Every few minutes a bright white tail with its cap burning brilliantly would streak across the curve of the Earth and disappear among the millions of stars within our view. That was all real.
Right now, I’m swinging in my hammock contemplating a nap while families of ducks swim past the shore just a few feet away. As my eyes get sleepy, I smile to myself every time their tiny, little, feathered duck butts point toward the sky as they graze the rocks for an afternoon snack. That’s not being dramatic. That’s finding joy.
My hair has felt perpetually dust covered after hours of trail riding in the side by side with the exception of the moment when we hit a massive puddle on “Carwash” road yesterday. This road is a rocky covered trail near our cabin that expands out from the woods and morphs its edges with Lake Michigan, completely submerged in some places. The water went sailing hirer than the vehicle when we hit one of those places, and it drenched the two of us in the front seat. We laughed uncontrollably. We were soaked. It was perfect.
Last night I was in the middle of the harbor in a plastic, green, sit in, kayak. It was the stillest I’ve ever seen the lake. The only movement was from man. Every once in a while, I could hear muffled laughter ripple out into the harbor from open windowed cabins and buzzing bars, but the water was glass and the ducks were just aimlessly wading. I could see several feet to the bottom. In some spots, the water became so crystal blue, that it resembled the artificial stuff you see at putt putt corses. Just pausing out there was the most relaxed I’ve ever been. That’s not romanticized. That’s God’s creation. That’s reality.
There’s a toy store and museum just up the sidewalk from where I stay, and maybe to some people it’s just a crowded little shop full of trinkets, but to me, it’s an oasis, a wonderland. The sweet, outwardly, politically liberal lady that runs the shop sits behind the same glass counter she’s been at for decades. The majority of the treasures found within her walls were crafted with love and admiration for this island by Mary’s own varicose vain covered hands. She can be heard from her seat gabbing and laughing with friends she only gets to see once every summer.
Navigating to her cash register is what I imagine it’s like to climb through a jungle looking for a lost temple. All around her are vines of various gadgets and oddities. After you’ve dug through the wooded cabin’s endless supply of nooks and crannies filled with toys, art supplies, jewelry, and who knows what else, (I’m seriously surprised by something I’ve never seen before with every single visit) and you make your final selections, she joyously totals your purchase, manually punching in every number. As she goes through the various gizmos and gems you’ve collected to tally everything, each item has its own history and story attached to it along with comments like, “Oh, isn’t this just darling?” Or “This one is just beautiful! Where did you find this?” Implying that she gets lost in her own store often. With every purchase, she creates some of her own arbitrary prices and slips some items into the bag for free while sporting her wonderful smile. It feels like an experience from a story book, but all of this is precious and really exists.
When I go home next week, I have a cozy hard wood floored apartment waiting for me. Surrounding it are several blocks of little neighborhoods, including my best friend’s house, a book store, exposed brick wall coffee shops, and quiet, woodsy walking paths. Inside the doors of my house is my long haired calico cat who cries at the door as soon as she knows it’s me and won’t walk away until I’ve picked her up and she has a chance to crawl onto my shoulder and push her fuzzy face into mine. That’s not romanticizing. I’m just looking closely at what’s real.
All that to say, being away has been amazing. Finding beauty has not been difficult. And right now, everywhere I turn, I can find and feel genuine joy. I promise none of that is to brag. I truly hope to bring this perspective home with me. I share this so that maybe you too can notice the goodness just beyond your nose. Maybe we don’t need to stretch reality to make it seem romantic. Maybe true magic is just at our fingertips.
You are truly and deeply loved.
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