Wind whipping in the breeze—not all that different from the rustling palm fronds nearby—I take my everything bagel with cream cheese, some undercooked bacon, and half a glass of orange juice outside. The constant mechanical hum of the air conditioner, along with its unnatural chill, pushes me out here. That, and the quiet pull to be alone.
I find myself mentally remodeling the back area of our vacation rental. The distance between the trees is perfect for stringing a hammock, and the white, lava-like rock covering the ground is far too unfriendly for bare feet. I’d rip it all out and lay down sand instead—make room for badminton, bocce ball, maybe even a table tennis setup.
I’m trying to remodel my inner space, too—or at least, I hope to. Vacation has a way of offering a kind of palate cleanser.
I’m noticing how easily I assign pressure or responsibility to certain activities—like they’re supposed to do something for me. Reading and learning Spanish. writing, even relaxing… I treat them like assignments. Like each one must produce something: a revelation, a breakthrough, a better version of me. But maybe they don’t need to do any of that. Maybe they can just be what they are.
But what does that even mean?
Earlier today, Dave and I drove south in search of artwork. I’d seen images strung up on a wire outside someone’s home—bright, hand-painted pieces by a local artist. We did two U-turns in what seemed like the right area, but it wasn’t happening. Not much was. Even in the capital city, most businesses were closed. So we gave up on it.
At one point, we got caught in a crowd on a congested two-lane road. People were parking wherever they could. Parents were holding children’s hands, pushing strollers. Clearly something was going on, but we had no idea what. On a whim, we decided to join. Dave jumped out to guide me while I reversed around a stump.
Turns out the Marine Corps (Korps Mariniers) military base was open to the public. Among the trinkets, chopped coconuts, and curry hot dogs, military personnel performed swat demonstrations, helped kids blast a fire hose through a target ring, and gave tours of a Coast Guard vessel.
Afterward, we stopped at a roadside fruit smoothie stand and learned today is Labor Day. Which explains why Aruba seemed especially slow for a Thursday—it wasn’t laziness, it was a holiday.
I share all this because although I didn’t find the painting I was hoping for, I also didn’t let that disappointment shut me down. Staying open, continuing to follow the trail, made room for something unexpected—something that was unique and as one of a kind as an art piece.
Weathering disappointments well—and loosening my attachment to things looking a specific way—feels crucial to embracing what comes next. It’s not easy, but maybe that’s the quiet work of presence: to let go just enough to stay open.
Cheers to letting things unfold. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 