Just like when I was on the beach today with my team, a day out in the glorious north east coast, at Whitley Bay/ Cullarcoats. Food was eaten, the sun was out, yes there was a westerly breeze.
Old me would have kept his shoes on. Old me was scared to feel. Old me would be afraid to enjoy himself. Old me would have stayed in his head. Old me would probably have told people off for taking their shoes off. Old me would have thought them childish.
Today, the sand on my feet belonged to me.
Today, I didnt care, and it was time to let my feet get covered in warm glorious sand.
And put my feet into the water.
Blue Sky meets the Crisp cold north sea.
Ripples of sand, water and sun dancing
And my feet part of it all
Feeling
To feel it, it had to be felt.
And I remember a time before.
When my head would prevent me from feeling, because it was safer that way.
Thats what denial, distraction, critical old me would have done. Anything to avoid feeling. Anything to stay in safe mode.
I used to live near the beach as well. For a whole year I would walk along the beach, in shoes or boots. They were my covid restrictive walks, along the sand, glorious…but..
watching others in the water
watching dogs run in and out
taking photos of the sea.
me walking along the sand, in boots, keeping my body clothing layers away from feeling.
scared to feel.
Until one day I decided to take off the shoes.
Until one day I realised it didnt matter if I got sand everywhere, or my feet wet or anything, because it didnt matter.
I wasnt going to get told off.
I didnt need permission
I could feel
I could run in. I could make splashes
I could get my t shirt wet
It was ok to feel.
It was safe to feel.
It wasnt enough to think about feeling. It wasnt enough to watch the water, to assess, judge or stay distance from it.
It wanted me to feel it, to feel its abandonment and life in it. Inviting me to freedom, requires feeling it, even just toes, just cold, just anything.
Joys are there to be felt.
Joys are there to be felt!
Thank you for reading!
My previous piece on Joy is here…it feels like it’s a thing!
And it deluged the country lanes off North Yorkshire today for about 4 hours.
And it was so bad, and spectacular some people took photos of it.
So did I
But I was inside. With the other sweaty walkers who’d made it indoors – filling the cafe with a stale damp smell of wet boots and jackets.
And by three hours later the water had cascaded down the hill, and it was sunny at the top, and most of what was evident in the photo above, had dried away.
But that’s not really what I wanted to write about. I wanted to give you the first part of my afternoon.
Rain.
As I drove back I saw something far far more remarkable and precious.
28 Miles later and I have driven down the hill, over the A19 to Northallerton and making my way home.
When I’m about a mile from my house and driving in the 30mph zone and about to queue for a roundabout.
It has clearly been raining here too.
The paved ‘pavement’ with its undulating slabs and grass edges was holding pools of water, substantial ones.
And next to one of these pools was a navy blue push chair, containing a baby, the handle of the pushchair held by mum.
Standing in the pool of water on the pavement was a tiny blonde boy. Navy blue dungarees, blue trainer shoes.
Must have been about a year old, not much more.
Standing still in the water, water about as high up to the top of his soles, so, not too deep.
He was standing there as if this was the first puddle he had stood in in his entire life. Spellbound.
Not splashing the water, running in it – but just standing in it.
Feeling it.
Noting the moment.
Amazed.
Then I thought, given the lack of rain, and his age – it might well be the first time he has seen a puddle.
Seeing and feeling a puddle for the first time.
Standing amazed, raptured. That feeling.
First
Time
Puddle
And it was pure joy.
And watching it, for that split second moment – was pure joy too.
Seeing childlike curiosity and joy – was joy in itself.
Maybe that blue dressed blonde boy reminded me of someone…
Maybe it was joyful too to see how the mum was letting the boy just ‘be present’ in the puddle and feel it
It was ‘just’ a moment. But it was a ‘joy’ moment.
A moment where I saw the little boy in the arena – the little boy in the puddle – the boy risk being himself – the boy risk the reaction of others – and have this moment validated by his mum.
The boy experience the feeling of being wet. (and not just in a bath)
Its easier to watch the rain and take photos of it, and moan about it, or be bored and frustrated by it.
It was easier for me to stand on the edge of the arena and avoid the feelings, and watch as I didn’t take part in being myself in life. It wasnt easier, it was, as Brene Brown says, about numbing, shielding and hiding my vulnerabilities for the sake of survival. Watching life from the edge, disconnected.
Watching the boy in the puddle helped me realise how I started to feel.
How I needed the safety to dip my toe into the feelings – of metaphorical water.
To let myself feel
Feelings ive found can be like puddles, they can be like waves, they can be like waterfalls.
High Force – County Durham – Sept 2022
Some are pleasant, some are calm, some surprise and some feeling like a downward uncontrollable swirl, sometimes the water is warm, other times it’s cold.
I used to try and wear layers of waterproofs, heavy boots and umbrellas and lather myself in oil. Anything to avoid and protect myself from getting wet emotionally. Or stay in the warm spots of looking into and helping others with their emotions. I could understand aspects of other peoples water. But without letting my own feet get wet. Too risky.
Im on a continual journey of keeping my feet in the water. Keeping my feet in. Not afraid.
Feeling, the sand, the cold, the wet, the reaction.
Feelings like rain, like water.
Raw, naked feet and ankles.
About to feel.
The joy of the first time puddle.
The joy of feeling
And it was ok. It was ok to feel. Safe to feel.
The vulnerability of feeling for the first time.
Learning to feel
Learning to accept
Learning to be raw and naked
Learning to stand in the water
Attending to my human self, my emotional self.
The raw joy of first time puddles.
References to ‘The Arena’ are from Brene Browns book Daring Greatly – which im reading at the moment.
James Ballantyne 