My escape has always been water. My Mom loves to tell the story of the time we went to the beach when I was around 5 years old with our Church. In Trinidad, at the time, most Pentecostal churches had a retreat or getaway during Carnival time. On the final day of said getaway was picnic day on the beach.
The issue? The adults weren’t planning on actually getting into the water or entertaining the children’s desire for the water. So, I promptly threw the first and the most successful tantrum of my life. My Mother finally gave in to my call to the water and stripped me out of my duds and I was running for the waves with not even a look backwards.
Looking back at it, I’m sure the only thing that spared me punishment for my outburst was how imperative it was for me to get into the water. I made it clear as soon as I saw the beach that I was getting in. I’m sure it was hilarious to the adults around and my Mother does love to laugh.
Much has changed since then but my love for water has not. I’m always calmed by it. The sound, the smell (fresh and salt water) some how stills everything else in me. The vastness, power and encompassing nature of water was something I revered strongly, long before I understood what it really meant.
Nowadays, I take long soaks in my bathtub. Living in NYC doesn’t permit for a beach bum life and truly I have not been impressed by any beach in the U.S so far. I take baths when I’m angry, sad, stressed, conflicted or if I just need to think; prune like fingers be damned.
Because I can’t lose myself in miles of water; I love bath oils, soaps, bubble baths..herbs, flowers…anything to enhance the water I’m willing to waste to soothe my mind or my heart. I put a lot of effort into it simply because it’s my sanctuary. I may show love in the kitchen, but I reason in the bathtub and I continue to honor the spirit of the water that irresistibly introduced itself to me, when I was so young.
I don’t know of any other way.