Peggy's Cove: A lesson in Quiet

It was quiet.  Punctured only by the occasional conversation carried on the wind and the constant crash of the waves against the rocks. 

We went towards the water, compelled by the rocks and the muddy, narrow path leading towards the water. One jump and then another and then another and we were there. Right on the edge.

6 inches separated me from the Atlantic Ocean. 

It was awesome. In the truest sense of the word. 

I could have stayed for a long time. I breathed in and out with the cadence of the waves, half in awe and half in delight. And then brought back to reality by the giggle of my two year old and the way she followed her uncle like a mountain goat over the rocks. 

The mum in me got nervous and I told him to hold her hand. Always.

It's barren there. Rocks covered with red heather. Little pools of water. And all around you, the ocean. Demanding respect. 

I tore myself away and we walked down to the village. Few words were spoken. We gestured when we wanted to stop and try to capture the scene before us. We wandered through a boathouse filled with old fishing paraphernalia and other interesting stuff like a whale's jaw bone. I wondered what use I would have for a lobster trap and how I would display it. And then I saw the shells, gathered up from the sea. Worth very little to the seller, but worth a great deal for me. I handed over my coins and he wrapped the shells up for me. 

 We followed the twisting road up to the lighthouse and the throngs of people. It is after all one of the most photographed sites in all of Canada. We took some obligatory pictures as well and headed away from the people. 

It was too noisy, too busy. Everyone caught up with too much noise, the bus schedules, the overpriced coffee served at the top, the perfect picture. 

I wanted to capture it all with a film camera. Slow.

We wandered along the rocks, always making our way close to the edge, watching the water hit the rocks and create spray. Our faces were moist. 

I found a house I wanted to live in, a little house by the sea. It's quiet and secluded. Simple and quiet. 

I crave that in my life. 

And so I build it in, one little bit at a time. And I keep my shells close to remind me. 

How To Be Quiet 

1. Take a deep breath. 

No, seriously. It can't always have the sea tang but it can always help. Breathe in and then out slowly to the count of ten. It slows your heart rate down and relaxes your body. 

2. Do the next thing. 

So the house may be a mess, the laundry still needs to be folded and there's other nagging jobs. Just do the next thing: put laundry on, wash the dishes, breathe. Everything will fall into place. 

3. Deliberately slow down. 

Light a candle, put some calming music on, gather your littles or whoever is close to you and hug them.   Take time to figure out the reason why life feels so busy, so noisy. And then scale back. 

4.  Take time to be quiet. 

It may just be a few minutes standing on the back porch, or it may be longer. Leave your phone alone, actually leave all screens alone. Take the few minutes to regroup and then face your lists, your busyness, your day. 

Where is your favorite quiet place? 

On Being Here and Present

It's been a week of change, transition and simplicity. Learning (again and again and again) to be content. That enough is really enough. And home isn't about the stuff. It really isn't.

Stuff makes the four walls homey. Stuff adds character and texture. Stuff defines us. But it's not what makes us.

In preparing for this move, I thought a lot about simplicity and living on purpose. Not living in the stupid zone. Not just letting life happen but owning each day, and being a good steward of the days I have.

Now? Here I am, currently, on an air mattress covered with our beloved orange MEC sleeping bags (as an aside, if you're buying sleeping bags and wondering about buying 'the really nice ones', do it. You don't know how long and how much you'll be sleeping in them.) There's a stack of library books in one corner and two duffels in another. It's our room, minimalist to the core.

I'm so much more grateful for the little things. We were given a kettle along with a few other basic kitchen ware. A kettle? I could have wept. Granted one can always boil water for tea in a pot but a shiny, whistling kettle on the stove is so much more delightful. And two pretty mugs.

I have tons of time to figure out my house habits and to think about how I want stuff to go, where to put the bookcases and how to create an office area. I also have lots of time to just hang out with my girls. Library time, stroller time, being silly on mummy's bed time. It's so good.

To keep it all real, I don't bounce out of bed every morning super happy and grateful. I may have had just as many meltdowns as my toddler. I may have not wanted to hear about all the mature responses I could have to my current situation. But, I will always have a current situation that challenges me, that reveals stuff about me that's not always pretty.

So, I'm here. Learning again to be grateful for each day. Being aware of the simple things and delighting in them.

(written on my iPhone, pictures from down by the Bay)