Perhaps the most important guiding principle of this reset so far has been removing the word should from my vocabulary. I was deliberate about seeking to mitigate the sense of obligation and guilt that often comes along with the word, since that’s so often what leads to exhaustion and burnout.
Yesterday was my official 7 week mark (feels like 7 days and yet somehow also 7 months?), and overall the principle has served me well. I didn’t guilt myself if I didn’t feel like going on a walk, or if I slept late, or spent a whole day reading and not doing something “productive.” I have done yoga a few times, but only when I felt like I needed to move or stretch. I didn’t even guilt myself into going grocery shopping, even if it meant I was eating peanut butter toast and rationing my perishables to last an extra day.
[There was an unfortunately timed remote job fair that truly felt like an obligation, and took an unmistakeable physical toll on me. It sounds melodramatic but it was truly wild how quickly my brain went back to the bad place.]
If it sounds like I’m making a bigger deal of this accomplishment than it warrants, I might be. But I would also argue that it’s harder than it sounds to do what you want to do, not what you feel like you should do (especially for Americans). I have caught myself mentally admonishing something I failed to do and had to be deliberate about correcting my inner monologue. It’s a work in progress, to be sure. But to a large extent, I’ve done what I want, when I want. And it’s been fucking glorious.
[To clarify, there are still musts that I can’t ignore: paying my bills, arranging travel details. And most recently and pulling-my-hair-out-frustrating, dealing with a tenant who seems to think paying rent is optional. Sadly, I can’t turn off ALL obligations of adulthood]
I have lost entire days to learning astrology. I have had to buy new notebooks and pens because I have scribbled so many notes that I’ve run out of paper and ink. I’ve gone through a stack of Sunday NYT crosswords I printed in preparation for a 2019 flight to Australia and have been languishing in a drawer ever since. I’ve read the kind of books that can only be read a chapter at time because their content is so meaty – the pages covered in underlined passages and scribbled margin notes. I closed an entire browser of TBR articles, some of which were over a year old.
I’ve been closing the tabs in my brain.
I had taken to referring to my first month as a “brain detox,” when talking about my plans. I knew that I was going to need some time to rest my brain, to let it heal and regenerate, before I did anything else.
My brain felt like a sopping wet sponge. It was so oversaturated that new information could no longer be absorbed, and it just dripped constantly, leaving a puddle of unprocessed information on the floor for me to inevitably slip on. I had a startlingly clear and consistent mental image of the literal drying out process that would happen during the first month, ending with the sponge eventually contracting back to its natural state. Only then could I start to add drops of water back in small doses. I couldn’t think about the short or long term future until my brain had the space for it.
As I’ve said, Croatia was never on my short list, but my gut (aka the universe) knew what it was doing when it instinctually drew me to Natalia’s listing. The isolation of the island is exactly what I needed. I needed to be physically separated from “the real world” in order to start this process. And the detox was real. I can’t imagine how wet the sponge would be right now if I had gone straight to the overstimulation of a new city (sorry it’s a weird metaphor but I’m committed now).
I think our instinct is to focus intently on any distraction if it means we can avoid being alone with our thoughts (not unlike that overwhelming urge to clean our desks before starting a big project). Because it’s hard to be alone with our thoughts. In the deafening silence, they can reveal things you may have been completely blind to, or force you to examine a truth that you have been quietly tiptoeing around in a “don’t ask don’t tell” truce, because you know that dealing with it is going to be messy, or cause you to have a reckoning with yourself and your values.
But this isn’t a post about my truths or reckonings. I’m not sure I’ve finished the process yet.
For those of you counting the weeks on your fingers, I’ve obviously been longer than a month. I knew almost immediately that there was no chance I would be ready to leave by May 7th. I felt like I was just getting into the swing of things and couldn’t stand the thought of packing up so soon. Fortunately Natalia didn’t have another booking in May, so I pretty quickly committed to staying through the month. And now here we are, it’s May 29th, and I still don’t want to leave.
But this time it’s less “I’m not ready to leave” and more “I don’t want to.” It’s partly inertia, but is one ever ready to leave paradise?
Thankfully, I’ve been pretty diligent about keeping a “daily record.” I’m not calling it a journal, because then it becomes an obligation with the pressure of writing something profound every day. But a daily record helps you remember the sorts of things you did every day. Naturally, some journal-type thoughts end up creeping in, but the pressure is off by making it more of an objective logging of events.
Reading back through the days, my vibes have certainly changed. The first few weeks, I was in nostalgia mode. Listening to comfort music from the early aughts. Not taking my headphones on walks, choosing to just “be” and think about my big existential truths, and absorbing everything this island had to offer. I was writing this blog, devouring books for pleasure, mostly leaving my phone inside, and not taking in new information.
Things started to shift a bit in May, as I got into a routine. I started spending more time in “learning” mode (my sponge was ready for some water!), pivoting more to nonfiction, working through an astrology lesson plan, and bringing some podcasts and current music back into my days. I started connecting with people back home more often, facetiming and emailing. I was playing a little less solitaire and sitting at my desk a little more.
May 2nd also marked my first swim! It was almost polar plunge cold, but absolutely invigorating. Since then, if she’s not in town for a class, Natalia and I start our mornings with a swim, and end our days with a walk (or sometimes a second swim). It’s given a new cadence to the days and bookends the “work” part of the day, which I am now eagerly diving into, because my brain has space for new things.
The days are consistently warmer and sunnier, with only the occasional rain shower or cloudy mornings that tend to burn off by early afternoon. The water is still quite chilly, but we’re no longer shrieking as we fully submerge, frantically moving our arms and legs at full speed until our blood starting pumping some warmth to our limbs. Now, Natalia is all business. She has a strict 30 minute route – sometimes she pushes me further. Being the competitive athlete that I am, I will never admit defeat, so onwards we go, but she does enjoy the fact that I’m huffing and puffing quite literally in her wake for a change, since she’s usually the one asking for breaks on our walks.
One could say that on the whole, this brain detox has been successful. But to continue to with the rehab metaphor, it’s been successful in a controlled environment, free of the stressors of daily life (aforementioned delinquent tenant drama aside). I know how to take care of myself here. I know how to slow down my pace here. But have I gotten too comfortable?
There are so many day or weekend trips I had assumed I would use Kolocep as a home base for during this extra time, but there is a magnetic pull that keeps me firmly planted here. My first 10 days, I felt like the island was conspiring against me in the form of ferry issues. But after that initial drama, everything has run like clockwork. I think it’s because the island knew it didn’t have to worry about me not coming back. I only left under protest.
If my friends hadn’t had their vacation in Dubrovnik at the end of April, it’s entirely possible I may have never even ventured into the actual city itself! As it was, we spent our day in the Old Town on Easter Monday, so just about everything but the city walls and restaurants were closed. So many unvisited museums. So many unpurchased tchockies.
If anyone wants to know more about Croatia, they should ask someone else. I’ve managed to spend nearly 2 months in a country and know next to nothing about how to get around, where to eat, what any of the other cities or towns look like, or see almost any of the world famous sights – or the Iron Throne!
But to imply there is something wrong with that is to believe that I should have done those things, even if I didn’t want to. So, I am not kicking myself for how I’ve chosen to spend my time.
But, I do think I have entered a situation where what might have at one time been a should has become a must. I’ve learned how to live a slower life within the confines of my rehab center, but we all know that the chance of relapse is high in the real world!
So here I am, with only days left in Croatia, sitting on a beach that it took me 2 hours to reach, including a 25 minute uphill trek over hot pavement (I missed the turnoff for the “scenic” forest walk and by the time I realized my mistake, the golf cart taxis careening by were already full of smarter, less sweaty tourists).
As I mentioned in an earlier post, Kolocep is the first of the three Elaphite Islands. We decided that I would benefit by dipping my toe in the water of leaving.. by taking the ferry 20 minutes to the next island, the livelier Lopud. I can still see Kolocep, and should worst come to worst, I could swim back!
The two islands are so close to each other and similar in so many ways topographically, but have dramatically different vibes. Calling it the “main attraction of the Elaphite Islands” my Rick Steves travel guide says it “feels bigger, more vital, and more inviting than the other two islands” (rude). I was shocked to see numerous gift shops, art galleries, markets and at least a dozen restaurants. In contrast with Kolocep’s sleepy, apathetic vibe, it had more of an old town feel, with cobblestone lined alleys, apartment buildings, BnBs and even a large park off the main promenade.
On the other side of the island (over the aforementioned hill) lies one of Croatia’s “destination” beaches, due largely to it being sandy – which is a rarity in a country of mostly rocky coastline. The luxury yachts and other private small boats that (thankfully) pass Kolocep by stop just out of view from my window at the entrance to the Surj Beach cove where they anchor for the day.
It’s interesting that this is the place I chose to test run leaving the island, because after nearly 2 months on Kolocep, I have swum at the sandy beach exactly twice, and attempted to sunbathe exactly once.
In fact, I don’t like sandy beaches. They’ve never been my happy place. Deep seeded body issues have historically played their role, but beyond that – they’re sandy!
I hate the feeling of sand in my clothes and my bag and my suit and stuck to the sweat on my skin and the crevices of my electronics.
I hate paying $8 for a warm beer that inevitably gets sand in it.
I hate how hot the sand is! (But I also don’t understand why people feel the need to cite the temperature of the sand as a reason to give the entire beach a lower rating on Trip Advisor. That’s like taking 2 stars away from NYC because the AC units drip on you in the summer. It’s just a thing that happens.)
I hate having to keep an eye on my stuff while in the water.
I hate seagulls! I want to eat my snack in peace (and preferably without the gritty taste of sand mixed in my mayo), thank you very much.
And why would I pay $6 for a sun bed or an umbrella when I have both of them for free a mere 20 minute ferry ride away?
As a New England gal, I love being ON the water, not IN the water. It’s too cold, there’s way too much trash and seaweed and depending on the beach, potential body parts. My general rule of thumb is that I only swim in water I can see the bottom of. Which is a giant mark in the pro column for this sandy beach.
I wouldn’t put much money on it, but it’s possible that I have spent more time in the Adriatic over the last 4 weeks than I’ve spent in any other ocean combined in all my 40 years. The biggest drawbacks are the incredibly sharp rocks that make it difficult to get in and out, and the sea urchins that cover every square inch of the rocks below your feet, further complicating the entry and exit process.
The water is so crystal clear here that I had to devise a way to measure its depth – consisting of a length of rope knotted every 12 inches and wrapped around a heavy rock – so that I could feel comfortable stretching out to my full 5′ 4″ without risking a painful encounter. The clarity fucks with your depth perception. You could have told me the water was 2 feet deep or 12 feet deep and I would have believed you. I probably looked ridiculous, swimming around the beach counting rope knots, but my feet have stayed urchin-free!
While I practically kissed the ground of the pier when the ferry dropped me off last night, a mere 8 hours after I left, I am making my peace with the fact that it’s time to move on to what’s next.
Just as we second guess ourselves in those first few moments of slowly lowering our bodies off the ladder and into the frigid water, without fail, we we towel off afterwards and say how glad we are that we did it. That we powered through the discomfort.
Leaving here is going to be very uncomfortable, and yes, sad – but that doesn’t meant that there isn’t going to be value in leaving. I’m sure that as I metaphorically towel off in a couple of weeks, I will be glad I moved on to the next thing. And the blow is softened a bit since I know I’ll be coming back here in the future. I’m even leaving a small bag of my things in the attic to ensure my return!
So I’m soaking up these last few days, taking all my favorite walks a final time, bobbing in the clear, cool water until my limbs are heavy, taking 25 photos of every sunset, and packing up an apartment that has in many ways become home (and that I have surprisingly – but very unsurprisingly – managed to take up every inch of). On Monday morning, I’ll be catching the 6:45AM ferry (let’s see if the island gives me any trouble) and catching a bus across the border to Bosnia, where I will spend 5 days in Mostar and then two weeks in Sarajevo.
[There’s another universe story about how I chose my next stops, but I’ll save it for another time]
I definitely have feelings of trepidation for this next phase. Will I be able to maintain this peace and clarity in a new environment where the vibes are going to be completely different? I mean I packed for a half day on an island I could hit with a lacrosse ball as if I were taking a weekend trip: 4 crossword puzzles, 3 books, 2 journals and 1 audio book.
How will I handle a city buzzing with cafes and bars, with a tragic but rich history that I am very eager to learn more about? Will I grasp every opportunity to distract my brain with a strict itinerary that leaves no room for reflection, or will I be able to tap into the right vibes there? Even after this intensive rehab, my instinct is still to avoid being alone with my own thoughts.
It’s wild to think that I’m only just cresting the halfway part of my trip. But in so many ways this really feels like an ending. In the meantime, I am taking solace in the immortal words of quintessential 90’s trio Semisonic – and the thousands of senior yearbook quotes that followed:
~*~every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end ~*~
The Hannahlogues 
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