When I was 15, I spent six weeks trekking through Papua New Guinea. At 17, I went to Africa. When I was 22, I rode horses and drank fermented mares’ milk in Mongolia and at 24, I again backpacked through remote tribal villages in PNG, this time with my husband and 7-month-old son.
And then my traveling days came to a halt. More baby boys came along, job transfers, career building, mortgages, bills, carpools… Well, let’s just say~ life happened.
Morning cups of coffee, sugary cereal bowls piled high in the sink followed by the school day send-off, office meetings, pending deadlines, grocery lists, soccer games, rushed dinners, even more rushed bedtimes, and then the quiet of the night before starting all over again. And as much as we try to embrace that sugary cereal bowl routine of life bit, we’re likely to discover we’re tapped out. That glazed over look in our eyes is not, in fact, from a late night marathon of “Justified” episodes but rather something more profound: a need to retreat.
Several weeks ago I became a soul-searching wayfarer to the south of England. A solo trip (thanks to my amazing family back home) to make time for something significant in my life that had long been neglected: travel.
My passport had expired, so with a crisply-spined new one, a far too heavy suitcase filled with layers of clothing I would never need (thanks to an unusually balmy UK summer) and my dusty Nikon camera, I tucked myself away in the stunning landscape of Somerset, England.
For two weeks I forsook my normal restrictive diet, daily workouts and work/life routine. Instead, I painted watercolors of peonies and toured historic landmarks. I took long hikes and baked sticky chocolate pudding. I met new people and listened to their life stories. I sat overlooking the sea and had my first Shanty. I started each morning with a cup of black tea with milk followed by many more as the hours went along. I read Agatha Christie novels on the trains to and from London and curled up on the beach, watching waves and drinking Heinz tomato soup from a thermos. I rode scooters with the local kids and walked to the small village shop (a lot) to buy malted milk balls and local eggs and cheese. I went to outdoor concerts and danced at sunset and rode bumper cars at the local town festival. I learned the proper way to throw a rugby ball and watched my first match with a crowd of Lions fans. I did yoga in a quiet orchard and settled in with a pile of blankets and bottle of wine to watch dusk turn to dark and greet the first star in night sky, followed by hundreds and then thousands of its twinkling friends.
The last time I had lain for hours watching stars in the night sky was in a grassy field in the middle of Guinea, West Africa.
I was 17.
Life happens.
Those things fall by the wayside.
And that’s somewhat regrettable.
I’m home now, embracing again the glorious routine of my life. This girl that ran to find retreat in the hills of Southern England is realizing that neglecting the practice of self-nourishment nearly capsized her ship.
I meet hundreds of you at conferences and events and know that I am not alone in this. In the summer issue I challenged you to make time for those things in life that you love. I took my own words to heart, because our goal in life and business should be to thrive, not just survive.
You may not be able to retreat to Somerset this year, but take heart. Your “England” can happen anywhere. I’m finding that a two-hour solo trip to the art museum on a Saturday afternoon or a drive to the grocery store with a slight detour down the bookstore magazine aisle has nearly as much impact as that stroll around Hyde Park did….nearly.
♥ Megan
