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Quitting the Rat Race

Retiring to Live by the Sea and Write Books – My Fake Journal – Episode 20

The sky outside my bedroom window this morning had a weird, sunless pink tinge. This told me two things; that there was possibly a torrential rainstorm coming, and two; that I’d woken up quite late. Willow was gone, meaning she’d already finished her morning routine and was in her hammock, napping.

It was gone eight, which I wasn’t entirely surprised about given that I was up until almost two, writing. I had two really energetic walks on the beach yesterday, totaling about three miles and for the last half of the second one I was accompanied by a labradoodle, followed by its exasperated owners.

After eating well and napping, I then spent five hours writing. It’s hard to stop once you get into those ‘flows’. I gave up and went to bed only when the spellchecker was working harder than me.

I knew that this morning I was going to be paying for it, so after an extra hot, extra long shower, I worked some peppermint oil into my ankles, knees, wrists, shoulders; all the joints I could reach. I rummaged around for my ‘workout’ wear because I wanted that kind of support today. By the time I got to the kitchen I was a walking peppermint support stocking. For good measure, I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, wrapped it in a tea towel and stuffed it down the back of my lycra pants.

Thought I’d stop that one before it started.

Suitably armored, I make two cups of tea in the biggest mugs I could find, slip on my trainers and a fleece jacket and remove the icepack. I empty one of the mugs into a travel mug. I know I’ve got to walk a bit, else I’ll seize up entirely (my ‘overdo it’ gene tends to see to that) so I leave, lock up and start walking. I hang a right on the sand, knowing I have three ish hours until high tide.

Steady and slow I walk, and a few minutes in I do a ‘body scan’ to make sure everything is relaxed. The sand, while flat and hard, is still sand and so extremely forgiving. The sky is now a pale, crisp blue and there’s only the slightest of breezes. I concentrate on the gentle sink of my footfall and before I know it, I’m at the cafรฉ ramp. I carry on past that to the ‘cave’, carefully negotiating my steps over the rocks.

I find two giant boulders in the cave that look like a seat, so I make myself comfortable. The rocks are cold, but I settle back with my hot tea and look out at the vast expanse of beach and approaching tide. I wondered what it was going to bring with it, or uncover, today. Driftwood, shells, a WW2 bomb.

The sea will decide what it wants to give up.

About this Series

‘My Fake Journal’ is a self-visualization. It is my future life happening right now. These entries will form part of a book called ‘Quitting the Rat Race’.

Read from Episode 1

About Samantha Dee

Author, Writer, Editor, Coach, Mother of Cats.

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