The Value of Retreats

November 10, 2024

This weekend I spent four days and three nights in Sandbridge, Virginia in a grand beach front house where the main agenda was writing in community. The retreat was a lovely balance of group writing sessions, constructive feedback from our instructor, shared meals prepared by an amazing chef and time to write independently. There was also lots of time for gazing at the ocean and walks on the nearly deserted beach. I also carved out time to practice yoga each morning and to read some curated literature from the” inspiration station.”

As I departed for home this afternoon, I brought with me a sense of serenity that came from days of being immersed in views of the open sky, the rolling waves of the ocean, the persistent breeze through the sea oats, and the subtle shades of beige, tan and yellow of the dunes and sand. My sense of balance has been restored through writing with like-minded women and casual conversation over sumptuous meals, cups of piping hot coffee and soothing glasses of wine in the evening.

I have been able to spend hours writing words for my personal healing and some that I may some day share with the world. Anne Lamott’s book Bird by Bird is snuggly tucked into my writing bag, and I intend to finish reading it at home this week. Between the triptych we wrote on Friday morning and Lamott’s idea of ‘shitty first drafts,” I have been freed from the writers’ block that has plagued me for months. I hope to use the flow I found on the retreat to continue my bigger project.

It is helpful for me to remember that the beach is always here. It changes when storms erode the shoreline or flooding shifts the sand, but no matter what happens in the world, the beach will continue to exist somewhere. One day, thanks to global warming, it might be in my backyard 100 miles inland, but it will continue to exist.

The waves will reshape the land, the air molecules will bounce around and travel to other parts of the world. As I return home today, I will remember that the ocean will be here long after I am gone, just as it continues to exist after my son Alex’s death. The salt of my tears I leave behind as tiny drops in the vast Atlantic. Perhaps that is the secret of the ocean? It is large enough to absorb the grief of nations and individuals alike.