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Quitting the Rat Race

Retiring to Live by the Sea and Write Books – My Fake Journal – Episode 2

Awake at six, slept like a rock. I could vaguely hear waves breaking, so I stayed there a bit and pretended I hadn’t checked the tide tables and see if I could sense the increasing tide. I concluded, ‘Get up, Gandalf’.

As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, I see that Willow is splayed out in front of me, stretched as far as she can stretch like some big furry living drought excluder. She obviously slept well, too. I know enough to not be tempted by the furry belly; its a greeting, not an invitation.

As I dress and do the bathroom thing, I briefly recap the previous day. Wrote two thousand words, had avocado for lunch, another beach walk (going left at the steps), fish for dinner. Watched a docu-movie about an Octopus, and a brief visit from Aunty, who was walking her brothers dog, Fender. ‘Ah, yes, the dog-cat incident. Will have to think that through,’ I thought, as I spat my toothpaste.

In the kitchen I topped up Willows water fountain and breakfast. I put on a moka pot of hazlenut coffee and sit on the couch. The sun’s about up now and there are a few dog walkers off to the left. At high tide, the beach to the right is not safely passable but there are still a few up there by the cafe.

I left a little window open last night. The air is different here. It’s not the typical full-on ocean air as you’d imagine it – the scent of salt and seaweed. It’s just different in a way I still can’t describe. It seems to have a slower energy to it, a calmer energy, a younger energy. Or maybe that’s just me. What a nice thing to be able to ponder, I ponder.

The gurgling coffee pot fills the caravan with the smell of hazlenut, which switches my reverie to my working days. Every weekend, after a week of commuting for twenty-five hours and working for forty in a toxic war-zone, I’d start the morning with a pot of this, because the aroma filled the house and felt luxurious to me. It was a Saturday ritual. But those were sad days, looking back. I was so tired by Friday I could barely function.

As I open the rest of the curtains and check the hammock. I decide Yes, very pleased with my word count. I pour my coffee and decide I need to start looking for an agent for this book. I know a couple.

Willow plops up onto her window hammock to check out the same view and that’s my prompt to get moving. Shoes not needed today.

The tide’s properly in now, so this morning I walk to the steps and sit down halfway down to meditate. The steps are deep so I can sit cross-legged on one step. The sound of the sea so close fills my head and I close my eyes. just listening to its rhythm. I start to focus on how the air feels going deep inwards, and how it feels leaving. I start counting my breaths. In for one, out for two, up to twenty and then re-start.

After three ‘sets’, I re-tune to open my eyes, and stretch my legs out. My feet get ever-so-slightly sprayed every time a wave breaks, although its not that rough today. Maybe it’s my imagination. Before walking back to the van and my book, I cant resist rolling up my joggers and having a paddle. I walk up and down in the water for a few minutes. It feels like ‘checking in’, like saying good morning to everything connected to the water. I kick the sand around for a bit and let my feet sink.

As I walk back to the van I remind myself that I need to ask around locally to see if there’s interest in a ‘mindful beach walk’ group I want to start up. Item number two on my new to-do list. Maybe I’ll ask in the cafe when I walk there at lunch time, after the tide makes way.

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

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