Packing for our recent family beach vacation required strategic thinking, the likes of which I haven’t done since my children were young. The addition of a grandbaby on the trip meant rafts, floaties and her own personal tent for the sand. My mind was racing with SPFs and consumer ratings. One daughter appointed herself the family shopper and created an Amazon shopping cart full of the accoutrements we needed for the beach—and many we did not. Beach towel clips? C’mon—that’s what human backs are for!
One dilemma that elicited a good bit of discussion was what size of tent to buy for our family. Did we want sides to protect us completely? Or would that feel stifling? Would the tent be tall enough to enable us to glimpse the sunset? How far could the poles extend? Would everyone want to sit under the tent at all times? And what about the cooler: Surely it warranted a place in the shade.
It was also challenging to find a tent without conflicting reviews which made me wonder: Is there such a thing as a perfect tent?
During lunch one day, I was comparing tents online when a colleague came into my office. I asked her opinion, and she said, “You need to make sure your tent is big enough for people to drift in and out.”
Her comment has been rolling around in my head lately, as I’ve watched the news and connected with old friends. Over a brief coffee with a former boss passing through town, I realized it’s been almost a quarter of a century since we worked together. It’s a blessing, at this age, for your life to be an open-air tent where people can drift in and out.
Although it was refreshing to reconnect with my former boss, recent conversations with other people have been painful. It’s distressing to talk with people who, by choice or life events, find themselves in a narrow tent. Sides zipped up. No air flow. No capacity for ideas to enter in—for empathy or education beyond what they think they know. No room for facts.
How dull, how suffocating, would our lives feel if we did not have the capacity for fresh perspectives to circulate. For sowing the seeds of empathy for someone whose life and challenges are radically different from our own.
I found it hard to unwind at the beach this year, because I was preoccupied with work and tasks awaiting me. My mind had become a closed-off tent, and I let it happen. But finally I achieved the nirvana that only an expansive ocean can provide. It’s all about perspective— about taking deep breaths, feeling the endless sunshine on your arms and opening your eyes to the awe-inspiring waves.
About choosing happiness and love.
Once the car was unpacked and the house (somewhat) straightened, my husband and I decided to have a pizza and movie night on the sofa. He chose to rewatch a 1980’s film, “The Name of the Rose.” Set in a monastery in the Middle Ages, the movie chronicles an old monk (Sean Connery) and his apprentice (a youthful Christian Slater) attempting to solve a string of perplexing killings. As it turns out, the murders were linked to books that were comical or satirical in nature. It seems the murderer believed boisterous laughter to be a sin—incongruent with the church’s doctrine. He wanted the books burned.
I couldn’t help but think of contemporary book bannings.
Sean Connery, as the wise old monk, made the point that doctrine should not be incongruent with laughter. Or love. Although a great movie, parts moved slowly, and I found myself scrolling on my phone through beach photos—fixating on one of our granddaughter laughing against the first ocean waves she had ever experienced.
Joy. There has to be room for joy in our tents—for laughter and acceptance and tolerance.
Baby Eleanor has been born into a family whose annual beach trip is a sacred experience. Our family tent, although imperfect, is wide open— welcoming to drifters, especially those who make us question, who help us learn. Those with whom we disagree but respect. I’m hopeful for Eleanor’s generation: that the tents of her future may provide shade and respite, without totally blocking the light. I’m hopeful that Eleanor’s heart and mind will be expansive enough for people and ideas to drift in and out, stirring the best in her.
Our tent is packed away, for now. And yet not.
What size is your tent?
IN THE MIDDLE 
Beautiful
🙂
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