Sit Back and Relax

I'm taking the morning off to go to the beach. Seems reasonable, but I'm the sort of person who regards self discipline as the undoing of my creative nature, thus leaving many a project incomplete.

My fiance and I are having problems with regards to our respective families and work. Thank God, the issues are not with one another. The one most in our faces is that we have moved in with his parents in an effort to save some money (you know, a wedding, the house, etc.).

When we accepted the offer, as offers so often are, the parameters were different. I expected we would have to adjust a little bit, but our independence would remain intact for the most part. I am a very self sufficient person, and the idea of living with parents at the age of 32 is appalling to me. I surveyed the situation before agreeing that it was the best step (financially) for us to take at this time.

I knew better. Deep down, I knew what it was going to be like. I told the voice to shush when it would wake me in the middle of the night, foretelling that my every move, my every word is going to be analyzed by my future in-laws. I was going to be compared, like purebreed puppies are before adoption, to their daughter in law, who is more successful, more exuberant, more together. Every insecurity I have worked so hard to overcome, or at least learn to hide, would rise to the surface. I would have to answer for what I had planned for the day, hour by hour. And my bad habits, of which I have been completely unapologetic about until now, would be on display for criticism, which is as common as a car driving by the house. Just something to expect, and as often as is inclined.

So the voice I told to shush was right. My worst anxieties have been realized. I am uncomfortable, verging on depressed. It's not to say that I'm not grateful, but believe me, we are paying a steep price. We are at the parents' disposal, and my fiance's mother is not shy about asking us to do things. Wait, scratch that. She isn't shy about volunteering us for things, especially me. And privacy? I once knew it very well. For 14 wonderful years, I always had at least an hour a day to shut the door to the rest of the world and think my thoughts and feel my feelings. Now, if I'm lucky, I have the ten minutes before I fall asleep at night. And this, my need for solitude, the aching desire I have to be independent of the expectations of others, is politely (always politely. I have been told several times that I'm too thin and appear to have an eating disorder, but it's always said in a kind tone) criticized. In excess.

I go to the beach, and for a few hours, it's the ocean, the sand, my book and I. None of my companions judge me, critique me, keep tabs on me. We are a harmonious group. When it is time for us to depart, I try to hold on to the inner peace I've been graced with for the remainder of the day. So today, after a weekend of feeling like a tape measure has slipped up and down me every which way, while I pack my bag with lotions and towels, I also pack the hope of finding peace.

Because ultimately, isn't that what it's all about?