Our bags were packed with sunscreen and snorkel masks. Our spirits were high. We were headed to the sunny Bahamas for a week-long getaway in January. We would sit back, drink rum, and bask in the glorious Caribbean Sun before having to face the reality of a long stretch of work with no breaks, not to mention the grey and cold and confinement of old man winter. Ah, sun!
Except there wasn’t any.
Grey rain clouds hung low overhead, forming an unrelenting ceiling of gloom. The famous aqua water was more reminiscent of dirty dishwater, the slate-grey breakers spewing flotsam and seaweed up on the not-very-pink sand. The bedraggled palm trees were bravely trying to stay vertical against the persistent wind and ocean spray. Rain poured down in shivery sheets. Not for an hour, not for a day, but for days on end with barely a glimmer of Sol to lift our spirits.
The internet was down. Cable, too. No cell phone signal reached this small, remote bit of the Bahamian archipelago. The sunscreen bottles were lined up on the coffee table like hopeful dancers waiting for their chance to audition for the Rockettes. After three days, their cheerful ranks seemed to wilt, and I was sure I heard muttering to the effect of, “Why did they bring us all the way here if no one is going to use us?” We were scratching constellations of no-seeum bites collected on our pathetic attempts to pretend to enjoy the beach where clouds of the nasty beasties were holding their own personal junkanoo celebrations. The two bedroom condo, spacious and lovely, began to feel smaller and smaller, the walls inexorably inching inward.
We were trapped like rats with six angry bottles of sunscreen on the sinking ship of our vacation dreams.
I could see the headlines. “Wife strangles husband on a tropical island when he innocently asks ‘What are we going to do today, honey?’”
It would have been easy to wallow in misery. After all, our dreams of sunshine and surfing had been smashed like an overripe mango. We didn’t feel tropical; we felt disappointed, disillusioned, and altogether sorry for ourselves. Sure, they need rain to keep the beautiful, exotic plants growing – but why THIS week? We understand that weather is weather and no one can tell Mother Nature what to do. But, maybe she might take a hint??? After all, this was our VACATION.
Eventually, we came to the sad conclusion that no amount of whining or complaining would change the unrelenting layers of grey clouds and chilly rain into blue skies and golden sunshine. Our choice was clear – we could decide to be miserable or decide to be happy.
So, we pulled out our trusty guide to the island, skipped entirely past the large section on “Fun in the Sun “ and started mapping out places to visit that we would never have considered when the beach was calling to us. We started with the town “liberry” (they really call it that), which offered internet at $5.00 per hour. Although somewhat spotty, we were able to make some connections with the outside world, assuring them we were fine and “having a ball” (a little white lie at the time). We were surprised and delighted to find the little pink building was filled with locals and visitors in a lively mashup of Tuesday morning book club and daily koffee klatch. From there, we visited the Island bakery, dodging the raindrops to nibble on home-made coconut pastries.
As the days marched on and we discovered nuances of the island we had never expected, our gloomy mood began to lift. We poked through little shops. We visited with island residents. We marveled at huge oceans swells exploding against craggy iron shores in hidden coves, sending foamy spume shooting high into the air. We found a friendly local bar with a big screen TV and watched the Packers roll over Washington in the playoffs, accompanied by huge plates of coconut shrimp and cinnamon-spiced barbequed ribs washed down with liberal amounts of icy Kalik (the local beer) and fruity rum punch.
We pulled out movies that we had not seen in years, watching them curled up on the couch together rather than in our usual, at-home pattern of each viewing our preferred TV channels in separate rooms. We put together jigsaw puzzles and read books we had collected but never seemed to have time to open. Side by side, in companionable silence, each one nodding off into occasional blissful catnaps, and then picking up where we had stopped reading when we awoke.
And when the sun eventually came out on the last day of our trip, we slathered on the stockpiled sunscreen, dusted off our sunglasses, unpacked the snorkel gear, and spent the day frolicking on the beach with glorious abandon.
The next day, we headed back to our “real lives” refreshed, relaxed, and full of memories.
Sometimes, we need a nudge to remind us that we are not merely flotsam, being tossed around on the ocean of life, victims of whatever befalls us. While it was not the way we had envisioned our vacation, we realized that, in many ways, it was better. After a bit of a rocky start, we spent the rest of the week together, smiling, talking, adventuring, laughing, exploring, bolstering each other’s occasional dip down into the dumps – and remembering why we had chosen each other so many years ago. So, long before the sun came out, we had deemed the vacation a wonderful success.
The lesson is simple. By simply choosing to be happy – we found happiness.
Get a Handle on Life 