Learn to say “what”

It was one of those luxurious mornings. The surf was pounding—just loud enough to be heard. We stood on the balcony, watching the rising tide.

“Its rhythms vary so much,” I said. “Sometimes you can’t walk on the beach in the morning. Other times it’s way up in the late afternoon.” Then I pointed out to a spot about a hundred feet away. “And sometimes it’s way out there.”

“We really need to get a tide chart to help us understand what’s going on. A lot of businesses hand them out free.”

Then, that thought and those words were gone.

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” he said.

“I have an idea,” I said. “Let’s go to the seafood place.”

The traffic was gentle and easy that morning. We didn’t need reservations. We immediately got a place to sit. Twenty minutes later, we were picking away at a huge plate of crab legs and Key lime pie. It wasn’t on the breakfast menu, but it was what we wanted, we said.

Next we drove down to the cove, a hidden inlet down the coast. We had to walk and walk to get there. And once we did, we still had to walk down a hundred stairs. So we slid and clambered down the hill, instead. We wandered around the tiny bay, getting our feet wet and dirty in the sand. We climbed on rocks and stared at each of the beautiful things we saw, things that God made.

“What’s this?” I said, barely touching a round ball of prickly things.

“A sea anemone,” he said.

I didn’t want to touch it completely, so I picked up a piece of a shell and touched the anemone with that.

The prickly, fuzzy ball of stuff just opened up and sucked that crab shell in. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. I giggled. I wanted to see it do it again.

We strolled around the bay. Starfish, rocks, and pretty shells lined the way. “No Nude Bathing,” a weathered sign commanded. A patrol helicopter flew by, just to make certain we complied. We climbed back up to the street. We didn’t use the stairs this time either.

When we got back in the car, we drove to town again. The surf shop was open, so we ambled on in. We looked at sunglasses, wet suits, kayaks, and shorts. We didn’t want to buy anything, so we said thanks and headed out the door. As we were leaving the store, a man suddenly burst out after us, shouting and waving something in his hand.

“Don’t forget your tide chart,” he said, giving the little booklet to us.

We looked at each other, then laughed at loud. Even though we had forgotten what we said we wanted, the universe remembered and insisted on giving it to us.

There’s a lot of things we have to let go of. Probably everything, in fact. But it’s important to say what we want first—before we let go—because sometimes when we let go, what we want comes back to us.

An important part of speaking the language of letting go means learning to identify and say what we want.

From the book: More Language of Letting Go

The post Learn to say “what” appeared first on Melody Beattie.