“We have our choice of activities,” my husband said, pointing to the computer in hopes I would read the email his company sent about our upcoming trip. The company my husband has worked for for over 5 years, the one he’s chosen to sacrifice his family and marriage for, has never treated him to a “work trip” before.
I looked at the list of options; spa, shopping, golf, deep sea fishing, catamaran snorkel trip…it wasn’t difficult to pick – snorkeling remains one of my favorite things to do, even though I’ve spent forty years avoiding the water.
Snorkeling is different. Smooth water, bigger boat, time in the water instead of bobbing on top of it…I was happy it was on the list and told him my choice. “But don’t you want to do the deep sea fishing?” I encouraged him even though I knew it would mean I would have to do my trip without him. I didn’t want to keep him from his fishing zen. “No, I think it’s better if we stay together, we’ll do the snorkeling,” he said, and sent our response to the event director.
The whole trip was more than I could have ever imagined, and even though the thought, “It’s about time,” floated through my head repeatedly, I stayed incredibly grateful we were being given this treat. I felt my husband was finally being recognized for the extraordinary work he does, and for the sacrifice he’s made. And boy were they recognizing it.
I believe the only other time I’ve stayed in a 5 star resort was in my twenties when my mom got a job at The Ritz in Laguna Nigel and she brought my sister and I along for the trip. I remember sitting around in the fluffy white robes and giggling a lot…making our way through the mini bar treats we thought were free. They had to be free in a place like this, right?
Being here now, in this same posh environment, felt different. I was way more aware, way more grateful, and way more appreciative of the level of excellence with which we were being treated. Not one thank you from random staff in the hallways got by my radar. This was nice. Really, really nice.
Of course I’d been manifesting the abundance for months, close to years maybe. I’d practiced making my expectations sparkle with wealth, health and good vibes. I’d lived inside of those feelings for a long time. And here I was sitting at an oceanside pool terrace with a glass of the best champagne I had ever tasted in my hand, linking pinkies with my handsome husband and enjoying tiny hors d’oeuvres that packed more flavor in one bite than my last year of dinners.
So I knew the activity we had picked for our free day would be up to par with the rest of the trip, but what I didn’t know is that a huge disappointment would result in an even more huge moment of healing for me.
The day before we were to leave for the trip we got notice that they had to cancel the snorkeling part of the catamaran snorkel trip…so it would just be sailing. Sailing? Really? I started feeling the tightness in my gut and held my breath for several seconds before realizing what was happening in my body. “I can’t just do the sailing,” I said to my husband. He knew. “It’ll be okay,” he said, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be okay for me.
Okay, catamaran, I thought, it’ll be fine. We’ll have a nice smooth ride, maybe anchor out a ways, they’ll let us swim a bit…it’ll be good. I created the scenario I prayed for in my mind.
We arrived at the dock with the three other couples on our tour and quickly realized that the boat we were touring on was a real sailboat with a one man crew. No catamaran. No stopping to enjoy the fish. No swimming. Just sailing. I looked at my husband who was already searching, expectantly for my eyes when I said, “Oh no!” He knew.
“Oh my God, honey!” “I know,” he said. “I don’t know if….,” “It’ll be okay,” he interrupted. “Don’t worry, he said if it was windy, he’d stay inland.” Fuck, I thought, and my head dropped down to gaze at the bumpy brown wood at the dock as I wondered if I’d have to fight back tears. But they weren’t there. The other couples boarded without hesitation.
After my parents were divorced my sister and I (6 and 8 at the time) spent every other weekend on my dad’s sailboat, even though I suffered from terrible motion sickness and grew to hate sailing rather quickly. We’d sit at the bow with a death grip on the white, rubber wrapped cord – the only thing between us and the cold, shark-infested waters of the San Francisco Bay, and hang on while my dad pulled the sail tight to get the boat on it’s side.
He’d take us alone, no co-captain. Nobody else to man the sails, or help him in any way. We would find our way to the bow to prevent puking, and would only torture ourselves in the dungeon cabin if we had to. We were too young to help sail the boat and too big to not get in his way at the helm.
Most of the moments I spent on that boat were wishing he’d had enough and turn back toward the dock. When the sail came down and the motor started up the huge knot in my belly would release a little and I’d breathe again. The nausea usually subsided by later that evening.
As I boarded our tour boat and stared at Mike (our captain), searching his face for “good person” vibes, I felt no better. I bolted for the bow and claimed my spot in the front, hoping to avoid our new friends incase I had to puke. I couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing. We pulled out and were on our way, sail up, straight out over the breakers for open sea. And the knot started forming in my belly.
I held my breath and then found it again. I watched my thoughts as they spun out of control from childhood memory to the face of my husband, who by that time was checking in with me every few seconds. I tried to be social. My face was tight, and probably worried looking. I focused on the salt water splashes coming up over the bow, and the taste of that freshness in my mouth. I remembered to breathe more and all of a sudden I noticed I wasn’t sick.
We made it all the way out to Mike’s turn around point and I didn’t feel any nausea, despite the full lunch we had just downed in the hotel as we rushed to meet our party in the lobby for the tour. Despite the lack of Dramamine because I expected the No-Dramamine-needed catamaran. I was okay.
I let my body relax on the way back…back over the breakers, past the channel marker I noticed coming out, and as Mike lowered the sail. Nothing happened. I was okay.
He motored us up and down an inland stretch of mansions and million dollar yachts to finish our tour. I laid back resting my head on my husband’s shoulder and closed my eyes against the sun with the biggest feeling of relief and goodness I had ever felt on a sailboat…and a tiny bit of healing occurred right there in the middle of it all.
Laura Probert, MPT is a licensed, holistic physical therapist, published author, poet, artist, awareness coach and second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She’s the author of Living, Healing and Taekwondo and the Warrior Journal series. She’s a contributor for The Huffington Post, Wild Sister Magazine, MindBodyGreen, The Wellness Universe,Tiny Buddha, Black Belt Magazine and Elephant Journal, among others. She’s serious about integrating mind body and soul as a journey to passion and power, and she’ll show you how. She works to help you wake up, be brave, heal your shit and do what your love so you can share your message with the world. When she’s not writing you’ll find her with her kids, dogs or a horse or taste-testing dark chocolate. Find her Writing for Warrior Healing workshops and programs at www.LauraProbert.com and on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/KickAssWarriorGoddess
