A Brief Change of Scenery
Amidst the news reading, the science reading, the advocating, the policy making, and the rallies against injustice, sometimes there can be--no, there must be--a moment of quiet, a break-point in the urgency. Time for something to balance the rage. Time for something that is done for no reason other than because it brings joy.
Yesterday Elesia and I took a retreat from the city to work on our upcoming presentation at the Oregon Disability Megaconference (for the curious, we're presenting on self-advocacy for people, particularly autistic and deaf, who use alternative forms of communication). We drove an hour and a half to Oceanside and bee-lined, not for the benches where we could have spread out our pens and notes and gotten down to serious work, but bee-lined for the beaches.
We slipped through sea caves, stood transfixed by water rushing over sand, and (always my favorite) sorted stones along the shore, searching for bits of agate, finding treasures lost to those many who lack our fantastic eye for detail. We found life in every crevice of seemingly bare stone, poked a stinky jellyfish piece, and rocked in dizzying delight staring up at a huge flock of seagulls racing so close directly overhead that we could feel the breeze of their wings.
The ocean has always been one of my best places, something that soothes and sets me back to center, even at my most worn, enraged, or despairing. The ocean always brings me joy.
While we probably would have accomplished more on the presentation had we stayed within greater Portland, we accomplished far more (and far more needed) "work" yesterday in the way of happiness, friendship, and pleasure.
It's important to remember that a high quality of life includes time for the things we love, for things that are done just for their own delightful sake, not for any objective, or goal, or measure.
Photo note: Photo with this story taken by me on the Oceanside beach yesterday.








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