We are almost to Shavuot. This week I am on vacation, celebrating some family simchas (joyous events) and reconnecting with friends. It is hard for me to leave my job. That is true of many Americans. Most Americans never take their full allotment of vacation time or sick time. It is too hard to catch up. It is too disruptive. I am indispensable. Whatever the reason, people don’t take the time.

I was talking with someone this morning about that very fact. In the process I reminded myself (and her) about a delightful book, A Gift from the Sea. One that I have read over and over again. One that I have gifted time and time again. Her introduction is priceless:

“The beach is not the place to work; to read, write or think. I should have remembered that from other years. Too warm, too damp, too soft for any real mental discipline or sharp flights of spirit. One never learns. Hopefully, one carries down the faded straw bag, lumpy with books, clean paper, long over-due unanswered letters, freshly sharpened pencils, lists and good intentions. The books remain unread, the pencils break their points and the pads rest smooth and unblemished as the cloudless sky. No reading, no writing, no thoughts even—at least, not at first. At first, the tired body takes over completely. As on shipboard, one descends into a deck-chair apathy. One is forced against one’s mind, against all tidy resolutions, back into the primeval rhythms of the seashore. Rollers on the beach, wind in the pines, the slow flapping of herons across sand dunes, drown out the hectic rhythms of city and suburb, time tables and schedules. One falls under their spell, relaxes, stretches out prone. One becomes, in fact, like the element on which one lies, flattened by the sea; bare, open, empty as the beach, erased by today’s tides of all yesterday’s scribblings. And then, some morning in the second week, the mind wakes, comes to life again. Not in a city sense—no—but beach-wise. It begins to drift, to play, to turn over in gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach. One never knows what chance treasures these easy unconscious rollers may toss up, on the smooth white sand of the conscious mind; what perfectly rounded stone, what rare shell from the ocean floor. Perhaps a channelled whelk, a moon shell or even an argonaut. But it must not be sought for or—heaven forbid!—dug for. No, no dredging of the sea bottom here. That would defeat one’s purpose. The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.” (Lindbergh, Anne Morrow (2011-08-10). Gift from the Sea (pp. 10-12). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.)

I did that, precisely that. I brought my laptop with things I want to write, books I want to read on my kindle, books I want to read in hard cover, thank you notes to write.

What I need is time to sleep, just sleep. A chance to dream. A chance to think deeply, to let my mind wander and not to plan. I think the open road fulfills a similar function. Radio on, singing along, mind wandering, the world feels expansive, like the sea. The world is full of possibilities. Anything is possible.

What I need is time with Simon, just us.…We got some of that today hiking in OH. One of the things I love about us is hiking. We have now hiked in 18 states and three foreign countries. Today we even found heart shaped leaves. We were thrilled.

What I need is to see friends and not be distracted by my phone or Facebook. I put an out of office message on but here I am, writing while Simon is sleeping. Mustn’t break the streak of writing since Passover. Checking email is a way to stay connected and a way to hide. It avoids isolation–and it can be isolating.

What I need is to see the water. And the sky. To not hurry. To find that gift from the sea, or the mountain. Tonight, however, I am racing to Massachusetts so I can see friends before they leave on vacation.

Maybe tomorrow. What gift will I find from the sea? There is always something.