Baptize me in Sunscreen, Salt Water and Sangria
On the blue mind effect, weird snack combos and why I keep risking standby flights for a little bit of stillness.
My kids and I made our annual summer pilgrimage back to Florida.
I lived there with my aunt the summer before my last year of college, and right after I graduated, I moved out there as a newlywed for a very, very brief stint in corporate America. Needless to say, I did not thrive in a Fortune 500, and my desert husband didn’t thrive in the humidity.
But this return was so good.
I love that my kids will think of summer as something we spent at Aunt Rhonda’s.
And honestly? I needed it.
After a June that felt like sprinting underwater—good things, hard things, too many things—I was so ready to go still.
Made even more evident by the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes open past 8:30 p.m. Eastern. Most nights I’d raid their good wine, fall asleep on the couch with a kid on my chest, and then all four of us would brush our teeth and line up like sardines across the long width of a single bedroom, crashing from a full day of lizard catching, sunscreen reapplication and sunshine.
It made me feel a little like I was one of them. Us kids.
Not optimizing my day or squeezing every drop out of it. Just… being. In these bodies that are quick to freckle and tan, with our skittish nervous systems and quick-to-delight dispositions, going to the same beach they took me to when I was their age.
There’s something about this place.
Not necessarily Florida—the state—for all the reasons you already know. But being in a house I’ve watched myself grow up in. The way the thick foliage, water and sky all seem to compete with each other right before a midafternoon storm.
It’s steady.
And this week, I was able to get quieter here in a way that felt like relief. My nervous system slowed. My brain unclenched. I let the kids run feral, eat weird snack combos and talk me into going down the neighborhood pool slide. My uncle brought fresh sangria and I ate the fruit out of the bottom like it was communion. It all felt like a hymn.
The thing is—it’s not just nostalgia.
It’s the water itself.
There’s a reason this feels like medicine.
Marine biologist Wallace J. Nichols calls it the blue mind effect—the way being near water calms the brain, softens focus, and regulates the body. Research says two minutes of looking at water (even just the pool) can activate the parasympathetic nervous system, lower your heart rate and reduce stress hormones.
But I don’t need a study to explain what I feel in my chest when I step onto their lanai for the first time each trip and see the marlin hanging on the wall—the one my cousin caught, oh my gosh, not nineteen summers ago?! Or when we haul our chairs and buckets across the parking lot toward that wide blue stretch of water.
I wrote earlier this year about how I feel unmasked by the water.
More myself. Not performing. Not explaining. Just… being.
And I guess I’m writing this now to say: I needed that again. So much so, I risked myself and three kids with standby flying just to make it happen.
And maybe this isn’t your version of the water.
Maybe for you it’s a corner of the backyard in the late afternoon.
A long shower. A garden hose. A porch swing. A walk that gets you out of your head.
A cuddle. A card game. Someplace quiet enough to hear yourself again.
But after this week, I feel reminded to come back to my body.
To notice my breath. My hunger. My tiredness. My joy.
To remember I’m not a machine.
That I don’t have to earn rest.
That I don’t need to be useful to be worthy.
So if you’re buzzing too—if your brain feels like it’s moving faster than your life—maybe this is your gentle cue.
To find your version of the beach, the lake, the pool.
To go toward what softens you. Even if just for a minute.
I’m not by the water now.
But I’ll keep finding my way toward its rhythm.
Hoping you can still find me floating.
Trying not to do so much.
Honoring a pace that protects all of our peace and play.
Between laundry, aftersun and “sorry for my delayed response,”
Let’s let the quiet remind us who we are before the noise overstimulated us.
Let’s let joy be our rest.
Let’s let the summer linger.
xo,
Jessica
Yes to this. I feel that primal communion with the water in my body, too. 💙
yesss...