At the beach

Today, our two-week beach vacation began. Around this time each year, a large group of us, biological family and extended family, converge on an eight-bedroom beach house. We play in the ocean, on the beach, or in the house's pool, eat too much food, watch DVDs, and generally relax. I look forward to it every year, but this year I really need it. I've been more burned out at the start of some past beach trips, but not in a while.

Everyone is asleep as I write this. I've tucked in kids, checked on others, turned off lights, and now I'm working at the dining area table. I spent a few moments alone outside on the balcony, listening to the ocean and the howling wind and feeling very, very glad to be here. I also couldn't help but feel alone in a crowded house, as I so often do. I used to think everyone was this way, but I've talked to enough people over the years that I now accept the obvious: feelings on this topic fall along a broad continuum.

I'm often amazed at my own ability to wring loneliness from crowded gatherings. The only saving grace is that the vast majority of the time I don't find being alone or even loneliness to be a negative thing; it's just another way to be. If I were my therapist, of course (and for this discussion I'll pretend I have a therapist), I'd read those few sentences and figure I'd be charging this patient's credit card for many months to come. Fortunately for me, I also feel (and am) a part of many groups, so I don't lack for social contact.

I hope this week to go swimming at night, something I love to do but won't do alone simply for safety reasons. We'll see how successful I am in persuading some others to join me.

Despite what in my review of the above text read like whining, I do love this place. I really do.