Beachy Vibes
Stepping away from everyday life, however you can, helps with parenting and being a human.
Photo by Julie Miley Schlegel, Coronado Beach
I know it’s a privilege to get a vacation. Many don’t get time off or can’t afford a trip. Some never get a chance to take a break from it all. That being said, this year, my family out-voted me for a beach vacation instead of a trip to the mountains. I was a little sour as our vacation approached.
I’m good on a beach for a few hours. I enjoy walking along where the water meets the sand and listening to the waves crash. I like sitting under an umbrella with a good book while the breeze blows around me.
I do not love having sand in every crevice. I don’t love going too deep in water whose creatures I can’t see. Because I live in Houston where the summer heat is unbearable, I don’t want to vacation in a hot place. And my skin is not meant for extended time in the sun.
Our hotel was directly on the beach, separated by a lawn and then a sidewalk. With my first breath outside, the clean sea air soothed my irritability a bit, but there were still signs of everyday life close to the hotel to keep me idling high. The kids’ clothes were already on the floor of the hotel room. The discarded shoes were already in my way. I couldn’t find a place to fill my water bottle.
Up by the restaurant, there were siblings arguing over a chair. There were parents juggling sand toys and giant wagons full of small children, on the cusp of exasperation. There were kids whining for a snow cone. One couple was arguing over where to eat dinner. Farther from the water, we all acted like — well, like we do in real life.
It’s sometimes hard to be a real-life family and a real-life parent. As I walked closer to the Pacific Ocean, I found that it’s also really hard to walk in good, deep, thick sand.
Without a solid foundation, my footsteps didn’t stop where I thought they should. My ankles worked harder to keep me moving forward. My quadriceps seemed to kick in more than they usually have to. Each step through the thick sand made me wish I was in the mountains instead of walking through mashed potatoes in my Lands End swim dress.
As I got closer to the water and the sand became more firm, though, it was easier to walk. With each step away from real life, it was easier to relax. I could literally feel myself unwinding with each deep breath. In a different frame of mind, I noticed that the closer we all got to the ocean, the less distress we collectively seemed to have.
As it became easier to walk, it also became easier to quiet my mind and breathe. Close to the ocean, we all became our ideal selves.
Photo by Julie Miley Schlegel, Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve
All around me were parents and children and humans who were simply relaxed and happy. This is how we should be, I thought to myself. This is how we should parent. But life just gets in the way.
Without a screen in front of them or regular-life errands and routines, children of all ages were content and joyful. Parents were not irritable or crabby.
Elementary-aged kids had boogie boards in the water for hours. Preschoolers and toddlers walked out to meet the waves and then ran in squealing as the white foam chased their heels.
One boy threw fistfuls of sand in the air repeatedly, watching where the wind took it. I couldn’t tell what color his hair was, it had so much sand in it. Another group of children worked for hours to dig a hole to nowhere. Sandcastles and their architects were everywhere.
One little girl, about five years old, chased a seagull for several minutes, screaming as she ran, laughing hysterically when it would take off in flight. A group of boys close by had an elaborate frisbee game going, the rules of which only they knew.
One preschool boy in downward-facing dog position put his head in the sand and ran his legs in a circle over and over, delighting in the vestibular stimulation that would’ve made me sick.
Teenagers took selfies against the backdrop of the ocean. A midlife woman gathered seashells as she walked along. Each day we were there, an older man came and dug a bed for himself in the sand and then lay there baking to a crisp in his sand-bed.
Another man in a very small bikini kicked his soccer ball into the waves and let the ocean burp it back up. A group of three older women plunked down their chairs and sat watching the waves and reading for hours.
Two teenage boys were unfazed when their mom stripped down in front of all of us to put her bikini on, bare butt and breasts to the wind. (This scene actually gave me great pleasure as I thought of another way to embarrass my own three teenagers if they annoyed me enough).
The day before we came back, I watched the water for hours, hoping it would reset my internal rhythms for the coming days of sick children and back-to-school checkups, long work days and family commitments. Vacations can’t last forever. But, just like the water makes the nearby sand more firm, they can reinforce our life’s foundation so it’s easier to walk.
As I sat by the ocean, crunching sand in my teeth, digging toes in the sand, I was truly grateful for the trip I didn’t want to take. Time in nature will do that, mountains or not. Being still will do that. Slowing down lets humans be humans and children be, simply, children.
All the things that would’ve annoyed parents in the confines of regular life — throwing sand, screaming, running off, spinning around, getting dirty — were OK. When we were allowed to just be human, we were at peace.
When you’re married to a history buff and you’re staying at a 130-year-old hotel, of course you go on the hotel’s ghost tour. The tour guide described the 1888 Hotel del Coronado as having been “a sanitarium, which was a place where one could regain good health.” In 2023, I would say it did the same.
If you can, get to the water. Any water. A lake or stream, a waterfall or ocean. If you can’t get to water, get to nature any way you can. Even for an hour or a day. Walk through the difficult sand and terrain to arrive at a place that brings peace.
Without deadlines and rules and schedules and work and laundry and three meals a day, we are able to truly see our children. And they are able to see us.
Remember what it’s like to spend time with your kids when they’re beautifully unstructured, unscheduled, free to follow their whims of curiosity. Every little moment helps us love and see each other more clearly — simply human, not beaten down by the daily grind.
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.