I’m back!
Fed up with the miserable, rainy, non-summer in Amsterdam, I escaped with my family to the Greek island of Lefkada for 10 glorious days.
Transiting through the airport and getting on a plane for the first time in 18 months felt almost normal, but for our masks and the requirement that we present our proof of vaccination. It was a small price to pay in order to, at last, be able to fly away .
On Lefkada, it was easy to forget about everything: the pandemic, the news, my plans to work on my book for an hour every day. The searing 38-degree heat burned away the last bits of my withering resolve and cauterized my restless mind, forcing me to constantly process the nonstop sensory stimuli the island flung at me.
Stop thinking, said the island. Feel. Feel. Feel.
So I did.
It was exactly what I needed after a year of assessing nonstop risk, filtering constantly changing information, and wrestling with anxiety, stress, panic, fear, and brain fog.
All the experiences of the past year finally had room to breathe. They began to come together in my mind, forming new connections and revealing new pathways.
A clearing. A crystallization. A landing.
Watching my daughter in the sea, I tried not think about home, the Philippines. When I try to explain to our friends why we can’t go home yet, why we can’t just hop on a plane and hug our families like all of Europe, the US and UK did this summer, how shameless corruption has exacerbated the crisis so that we won’t be able to go home for a very long time, they just don’t get it.
Being half-dolphin, lithe and happy in the waves, my husband and I hope our daughter inherits our love for the sea. Until we can teach her to swim in our native waters, these islands and this sea will have to do.
Like flicking an off switch for my brain, the sea sparkled in the sun and caught my eye. For a moment, I glimpsed the effortless grace of bodies momentarily suspended in a translucent swell.
I recognized it for what it was: an invitation to joy.
I plunged in.
The thing I love to do most in the sea is face away from the shore, float on my back, and lose my gaze in the horizon. Being supported by the waves and surrounded by blue calms me in a way nothing else can.
Reunited with the sea after almost two years, I let her hold me in her arms and sing to me.
I released my tears into her vastness and cried.
Below the surface of the water, I could hear the white stones on the seabed rolling with tide. I love this sound: the gentle clatter of small pebbles and large smooth rocks being moved and shaped endlessly, a duet of earth and sea.
When I had enough of this music, I allowed myself to be carried by the tide, biding my time one wave at a time, until I landed on the pebbly shore on the tips of my toes.
Man, you should have seen me. Perfect dismount! I wished there was a jury holding up scorecards for this kind of thing. No struggle, just grace.
After scorching days at the beach cooled into lavender nights, my husband and I began to speak about things we hadn’t allowed ourselves to think about for a year.
Dreams. Purpose. Possibility. Growth. Changes. Big ones. Scary ones.
I think of my husband as a rock, and I the agitating tide. It takes a lot to get him moving.
But beneath the surface, I can hear the big rocks in motion at last. And it sounds like music to my ears.
Coming home from Paradise, I did something for myself that I’ve never done before. I blocked off a week in my calendar to simply allow myself to land.
That meant saying no to work (sorry, clients) and the pleasant distractions of social life (sorry, friends). I promised that I would only work on the book, clean my house, and focus on myself and my loved ones.
I’ve kept that promise, and it has been the best. I have more clarity and energy than I would if I’d just dove back in trying to catch up, making up for lost time and placate my own guilt about being away.
The pleasures and lessons of the island need time to land in my body. Just as I need time to land in my own life. No struggle, just grace.
In this season of re-entry, have you allowed yourself permission to land? How was it?
If not, what would permission to land look like for you?
Or did you plunge in and let the tide sweep you away? If so, that’s okay too.
Thank you for reading! I’m glad to be back to writing Letters by Deepa, with some exciting ideas for the coming months.
I would love to hear about your summer, anything that’s on your mind, or whatever would like to ask me. So don’t be shy, hit reply.
While I was away, I read books about pleasure and bodies, which made me think of my own. Maybe what I posted on Instagram will resonate with you. And maybe I’ll write more on that in the next letter.
See you in two weeks!
No. 13 | Landing
Thank you for taking me along. Felt every single part of that plunge 💙