Cheryl-Anne Millsap: Let summer waves wash away worries

Each morning, as soon as I open my eyes, I’ve already run away. That’s because the first thing I see, before I get out of bed in my suburban home, is the seashore.

I have a painting of the rocky Oregon coast that hangs beside my bed. It’s the first thing I really focus on when I swim to consciousness each day.

The painting was done by Gordon Wilson, a local artist. Wilson captured the rugged beauty of the Pacific coastline, a place I love, with his signature bold strokes and vivid color. I have only to look at the painting to be there. To smell the salt in the air and feel the breeze on my face.

Gazing at it braces me for the day ahead. It takes me away.

Each summer I try to get a little of the real thing and run away to spend a week or so at the coast.

I arrive worn-out and jittery. But bathed in the white noise of the waves as they pound the shore, soothed by the beautiful sunrise and sunset, I begin to feel better instantly. And when my vacation is over I come home scrubbed as clean and as smooth as a piece of sea glass.

The best part of running away to the beach is that I stop caring. Not about the important things, of course. Just the unimportant, nitpicking details that wear us all down.

I don’t care when we eat. I don’t care what we eat. Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches and homemade milkshakes are fine. Seafood is great. Cheetos and Hershey kisses are good.

I don’t really care.

I don’t care what we wear. As long as we are slathered with sunscreen, the rest is unimportant. We wear beach clothes. Our clothing doesn’t have to match or be in style or even particularly clean. It doesn’t matter.

I don’t worry about the time. It doesn’t matter what time we go to bed or what time we get up. It doesn’t matter how much sleep we get or how little. It doesn’t matter where we sleep. Tucked into bed, snoozing under the umbrella stuck in the sand to shield us from the sun, or stretched out in the hammock, it’s all the same.

I don’t care how much exercise we get. We can walk miles down the beach or never get any farther than the deck.

It doesn’t matter to me if the curtains in the rental house match the carpet or if there are enough dishes or silverware. I don’t worry about vacuuming or dusting or picking up the mail. Sweep the sand out the door and wash the towels and the housework is done.

All that matters when you run away, escaping to the sea shore, the mountains, a cabin at the lake or even your own back yard, is that you are free. As free as you want to be.

Like most people, my runaway time is in the months that the children are out of school. When the city slows down and warm weather lures us outdoors. That’s when I get away to the ocean.

But it’s a long time between summers. A lot happens from August to August. So, while I’m counting the days, dreaming of sticking my feet in the sand and watching the sun rise and set over the water, I look at the painting.

I open my eyes and let my mind run away.