The sense of nothing

Here I am pulling up a chair. Here I am rearranging the balcony furniture to face the water. Here I am lighting a coil to keep the mosquitos away. A red solo cup full of crushed iced and coffee sits on the table in front of me. For this trip I chose a $13 vanilla creamer, island prices, to compliment my coffee all week long. The first day we arrived to St. Thomas, we went to Caribbean version of Costco and loaded up on foods fit for a college spring break trip. Who wants to cook during the days leading up to Thanksgiving? I didn’t want to scramble an egg or look at a tub of butter for the next six days. We lugged the groceries into our villa, stocking chips, random assortments of dips, various alcohols and enough tubes of cinnamon rolls to open up a Cinnabon into our villas fridge. The most work we would do all trip was done. And now the beginning of doing nothing began.

Family members are stretched across the three villas. The main family group stayed in the middle house and that became home base. Everyone met in the middle during various points of the day. Boxes of wine lined the walls, sheets and towels tumbled out of the pantry, someone was always asking where the bags of ice were. There was never enough citronella on the property; the mosquitoes banged on the glass windows pleading to be let in like zombies. Random people would greet me with a hug and I would stare at them trying to remember their name or at least when was the last time we spoke. I found myself escaping with my husband to the basketball court on the top deck. There was a home above the court full of a different family who was unknown to us. I would watch them laugh and pass around glasses and plates and aren’t we all just doing the same thing?

Here I am fluffing up the pillows to make a fort on the upstairs balcony. Upstairs there was almost a 360 view of the ocean. Boats came and went all day long and I would stare at the open ocean until my eyes crossed. One day, I decided to do nothing but sit outside and read for the entire day. I started the morning one shade of brown and by sunset, I was the color of an oak tree. I dozed off on the cushions and would only wake when I heard gravel crunching under tires, someone was coming or going. Once the sun set and the mosquitos began to swarm, I headed back downstairs and was greeted by the aunt that was staying with us. She hurriedly handed me a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. She couldn’t find the ice and the wine bottle had been sitting by the pool. My hand was hot from being outside and the wine went down like cough syrup. I instantly became tipsy and tried to figure out when was the last time I had water. Being surrounded by something can make you feel like it’s apart of you.

Staring too long at something can make you…

Staring at the vastness of the ocean will cause something to split inside of your inner core. The days melted into each other. Everyday that I woke up, I stared at the ocean through a circle cut out in the wall. I told God “thank you”. I needed, well, I need, well I am always looking to find ways to expand my gratitude. I watched the boats sail by, the laughter of the people on board drifting towards me on the wind. I lit a candle on the dresser and turned my music up as loud as it could go. I thought about the new year. I thought about endings and the beauty in the depth of things unseen. I thought about how ice melts and turns into water and how energy never dies. I thought about expanding.

In all things give thanks,

T ❤