Over the past week, I've lived a bit of a gypsy existence. With work and obligations pulling me northward, I have bunked mostly at my friend Amber's house in Lake Geneva, WI. It's closer to my office than home actually is, and with a work event in that area, too, it just made sense to stay, take a vacation day, and chill.
Chill. What a great word. With all the driving that tends to occur in my world, the act of allowing oneself to chill is underrated.
Nothing brings out my inner chill more than water, and I had it in abundance these last few days. From a work retreat on Lake Delavan to a triathlon at 63rd St. Beach in Chicago to hours laying on or paddleboarding in Geneva Lake or Lake Como, I've been a water baby for sure, and I am so grateful for the experience.
I packed a full suitcase; I only needed a few swimsuits. And the more time I sat, letting the water rush to meet the sand again and again and again, the more I felt at home within myself.
The more I was at home within myself.
I've long said that if I'm crabby, put me in water. Run me a bath or toss me into a river, and I come back to me. So after days of these sorts of activity, I've returned to my regular schedule renewed, relaxed and ready. (Which is a good thing, because August just might kick my ass.)
So here I sit, on a rainy Sunday night, once again surrounded by water. From the balcony at Amber and Miah's house, the world is getting a little wash. The weekend is melting away, and I emerge on the other side, the same but different.