“We just want to rest,” we kept saying.  “Our lives at home are so busy. We just want to get away, rest, sit on the beach, enjoy the sunshine.” And I meant it. I was looking forward to time away, time off, unstructured time, time to sit and look at the water. Time to write. Time to put my feet up and read a beach novel.

Yet, I am a human being. Fractious. Contrary.   Very like my 22-month-old grandson Lucas, who, the moment he gets the toy he wants, puts it aside and wants another.

Here I am, on the balcony of our B&B in Puerto Rico, looking at the white-capped reefs and turquoise and blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean, surging against the warm sand.  The sun is shining. The light breeze feels good as I sit in my shirtsleeves and write this.

Yet here I was this morning, feeling sorry for myself, in spite of having  everything I wanted and more. The amazing ocean view from this balcony. Swimming in the ocean, multiple times.  Making great family memories with our daughter Shannon and her husband Christian, their son Lucas, and Christian’s folks, Millie and Alejandro.

Yet here I was this morning, filled with self-pity and anger.

There’s just a small matter of my tripping on the bedspread and falling, our second day here, and bruising some ribs, quite painfully. And also feeling like I’m getting a cold.

The ribs are quite painful today.  But then, in the days since I fell, we’ve hiked through Old San Juan, swum in the ocean multiple times, driven across the island to the Caribbean and had a lovely lunch there by the water, and  helped watch  Lucas…who does not stop moving and who loves to come and drag Grandma into the most important job ever: playing with him.

Yes, I woke up today with my ribs hurting.  But more than that, my mind definitely needed an attitude adjustment.

So I meditated. Made a cup of tea.  Called a friend, who helped me name what was going on with me.

Fear.

And anxiety.

But really, the ribs did not keep me from walking on the beach this morning.  The ribs are not interfering with my vacation.  My attitude is.

So, okay, pain makes me fearful and anxious.  But I can choose to just accept the fear (and the pain).  And not let it cloud up my whole vacation.

There’s a large reef in the ocean that I can see from this balcony.  At low tide there’s a lot of it.  At high tide, you can barely see it.

But it’s there. Boats have to be very careful when going near it.  So there’s a light shining from it, at night.

But really, the boats have the whole rest of the ocean to go in.

They don’t need to go near the reef.

Just like I don’t need to focus on the small rocks of painful ribs and minor cold symptoms.  There is an entire ocean of blessed vacation time all around me, a quiet day to fill up with writing  and reading this beach romance I brought with me… and taking a nap while listening to the waves hitting the shore.

In the time it took to write these words, a light sheet of rain floated in from the ocean, pattered a few drops on me, and blew away inland.  The sunshine resumed.

It’s another beautiful day in Paradise.

And I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.