Blueberry Shores: Reflections
on Leisure and Well-being
by Amy Scholten, M.P.H.
Sometimes we don't know just how tense and robotic we've become until we take some time off....I mean, real time off, not another tightly scheduled, action-packed, faux "vacation." For when we really slow down, we can begin to "taste" our lives once again, and the flavors are quite amazing—once we get beyond that first anxiety attack!
On a Saturday afternoon in July, we arrived at a peaceful, dreamy bayside log cabin in secluded woods beyond acres of maturing blueberry fields, in the small fishing village of Jonesport, Maine. Seeking refuge from a fog of overwhelming demands and worries back home, we promptly proceeded to have mutual anxiety attacks. It didn't help that we had first taken a wrong turn down one of the rocky, unpaved cow paths in the vicinity of the cabin and nearly ended up with a de-gutted car stranded in a sand pit, with nobody around for miles.
Tearful and shaken, I breathed a huge sigh of relief when we got to the cabin safely. Freedom...oh freedom at last! But that feeling was short-lived. We sat in silence at the dinner table that evening, peering out at a lovely private bay view. Brian was still tense and depleted from his long, intense days at work. My eyes nervously darted around the room as my mind chattered uncontrollably in the silence.
"Is this what retirement is going to be like—silent, with nothing to say to each other?"
"Uh oh. The T.V. doesn't work."
"I want to look something up on the Internet...but there isn't a computer here!"
"There's nobody up here!"
"Jeez, only one restaurant in town."
"What are we going to DO here for a whole week? God, I hope we won't be bored out of our minds, especially since this was MY idea!"
"I wish he'd just RELAX, dammit!"
...And the Blueberries Hit the Fan!
For the next two days, we did what many loving couples do on vacation: we took long, intimate walks down the private beach, and serene bike rides past blueberry fields, while simultaneously entertaining worries about work stress, finances, job changes, endless uprooting, mortgages, businesses, unfulfilled dreams, aging, illness, poverty, loneliness, despair, and falling into "honey pots" at low tide (honey pot is a Maine term for quicksand).
Then at last, the tide came in, and I burst into a fury of angry tears, right there on that private beach where nobody else could hear me, except for poor Brian whose heart sank as he watched me plunging rocks into the water with agonizing primal screams. Sometimes there's nothing more therapeutic than a
Did I mention that I like rocks?
good screaming/crying/rock-throwing session! Brian held me tightly in comfort as I collapsed into his warm arms, drawing in deep breaths of ocean air with each sob.
Moments later, as if by divine intervention, it felt like the weight of the world was lifted off our shoulders. It's as if someone had whispered "Leave your cares behind. There are so many gifts that have been offered to you. Just look around."
That afternoon as temperatures soared into the upper 80s, we discovered the heavenly delights of dipping into the cool waters of an aromatic, flower-laden pristine beach. We topped off the evening with Maine blueberry ice cream and chatted with some of the locals at the ice cream stand. Leisure—the new prozac, I thought. We were finally laughing, smiling and really relaxing once again. The healing power of nature was starting to take hold.
Grace Returns Like a Bouyant Seal
Yes, it took a few days to transition from the intense demands of our time-driven, fluorescent-lit, technology-ridden, information-overloaded, work-obsessed, artificially flavored, throwaway material world to a world that was more in harmony with nature's rhythms. The former had led us further from our spiritual nature and hence our very well-being, while the latter reconnected us to it. And the results of this transition became more evident each day: we felt better physically and emotionally, slept better, began thinking more creatively, broadened our perspective, worried less, smiled more, and felt more connected to the world around us.
We also started to notice and appreciate all kinds of precious gifts that we normally overlooked in our busy lives—the birds that sing to us in the morning, how the sun illuminated the highlights in each other's hair, the smell of the rain...
And it filled us with deep joy.
Leisure is important for all creatures!
The word inspiration literally means "in spirit" or connection with our higher self or spiritual nature—and it's essential for well-being, peace, and right action. Leisure offered us a chance to find inspiration by allowing us time to explore the natural wonders of life and reflect upon them. So we set forth to venture about the rocky Maine coast in a rocky sea kayak one afternoon, and we found...
Harbor seals guiltlessly embracing their own leisure and playfully indulging in communal cliff diving
A small island adorned with petroglyphs (ancient Indian drawings on the rocks)
A bald eagle majestically circling his cozy island retreat
Warm sunshine and blue skies alternating with periods of fog
Inspiration
It seems to me that modern living has disconnected us from our primal wiring, hence our society doesn't take leisure very seriously anymore and is ignorant of it's spiritual and health-giving benefits. Leisure is seen as a luxury rather than a necessity, and today it's often approached in a consumerish kind of way: an action-packed, cram-your-schedule-with-distractions kind of way that isn't necessarily conducive to spiritual wellness and real fulfillment.
I wonder what would happen if we all allowed ourselves the time and leisure to open up to the natural rhythms of life once again. What if we just enjoyed the gifts of life rather than striving so much—even striving to seek pleasure? In 1952, Josef Pieper, author of Leisure: The Basis of Culture, wrote "Leisure is not the attitude of mind of those who actively intervene, but of those who are open to everything; not of those who grab and grab hold, but of those who leave the reins loose and are free."
The Fog is Only Temporary
In downeast Maine, we learned that the fog comes in suddenly and frequently in the summer and sometimes departs just as quickly. We watched it stealthily encroach upon gently rocking fishing boats in the harbor, then waft in along the piers and lobster traps, and eventually embrace the quiet and quaint fishing village where tanned, burly men in tall boots still roamed.
We laughed and smiled once again, and devoured pounds of lobster, steamers and blueberry ice cream. We pulled seaweed out of our bathing suits. We climbed on rocks through ancient forests that led to the sea. We paid our respects to whale bones along the rocky coast. And the blueberry shores of Maine reminded us all along of a much greater reality than our day-to-day struggles in the material world.
The fog is only temporary.
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