This morning, Mrs Bob and I finally managed it.

Our first trip to the beach in a couple of months.

Two months.

That’s quite a long time when you live close enough to the sea that going to the beach should probably be considered a basic human right.

So, naturally, we did what any sensible couple would do.

We took coffee.

And apples.

The coffee was for us.

The apples were for the crows.

Priorities.

There’s something about getting back to the beach that I find difficult to explain.

It’s not just the sea.

Although, obviously, the sea helps.

It’s the whole thing.

The sound of the waves.

The wind.

The smell of salt in the air.

The gulls screaming at each other as though one of them has just insulted the other’s mother.

And, of course, the crows waiting patiently for their breakfast.

Or at least pretending to wait patiently.

They’re not daft.

They know exactly who brings the apples.

There was another little milestone for me today, though.

For the first time this year, I actually got my feet wet.

And by my feet, I mean my feet.

Including the bottoms of my shorts.

Which probably sounds like a ridiculously small thing to celebrate.

But sometimes the ridiculously small things are the ones worth celebrating.

I stood there with the water washing over my feet and realised just how long it had been since I’d done something so simple.

No great adventure.

No grand achievement.

Just standing in the sea.

Feeling the cold water.

Listening to the waves.

Being there.

And perhaps that was exactly what I needed.

Because life has a habit of becoming noisy.

Not necessarily physically noisy.

Although, let’s be honest, the modern world seems determined to shout at us from every possible direction.

Phones (left it behind).

News.

Social media.

Emails.

Other people’s opinions.

Our own thoughts.

Sometimes especially our own thoughts.

We spend so much time thinking about what happened yesterday and what might happen tomorrow that we forget there’s a rather important bit of time sitting between the two.

Today.

Standing in the sea this morning, I didn’t need to solve anything.

I didn’t need to work anything out.

I didn’t need to have all the answers.

I just needed to stand there.

Breathe.

Listen.

Feel the ground beneath my feet and the water moving around them.

There’s a tiny bit of Buddhism in that thought, although I promise I’m not about to start sitting cross-legged on the beach chanting at the seagulls.

It was simply about being present.

For a few minutes, I wasn’t worrying about next week.

I wasn’t replaying last week.

I was just there.

Me.

Mrs Bob.

The sea.

A couple of coffees.

And some very happy crows.

And somehow, that was enough.

By the time we headed home, I felt a little more grounded.

A little calmer.

A little more ready for whatever the week decides to throw at me.

Sometimes we imagine that looking after ourselves requires some huge lifestyle change.

A retreat.

A holiday.

A complicated morning routine involving seventeen different types of herbal tea and an alarm clock that sounds like Tibetan monks.

Maybe sometimes it’s much simpler than that.

Maybe it’s a walk.

A coffee.

A conversation with someone you love.

Feeding the crows.

Or just standing in the sea with wet shorts and remembering that, for all the chaos going on around us, you’re still here.

And sometimes…

That’s enough.

Stay safe,

BC