The Hammock Dilemma

I think I fell out of a hammock when I was a kid.  Either that, or I just felt really awkward getting into, and trying to get out of one.  The details are fuzzy; it was summer, I was young, I felt cumbersome and completely lacking in the how to's of hammocks.  Ever since, I've been wary of their allure.  I also assumed that people who lie about in hammocks are just lazy or have nothing to do.  I feel like I've never had "nothing to do" in my entire life.  

At one point in my career, I worked a full-time job at a vet clinic 6 days a week, a part-time job at a pet foods store 3-4 days a week, and took 2 courses per 12 wk semester for my distance learning veterinary technician program.  I feel like it wasn't that long ago, but in reality it was around 15 yrs ago...wow.  But the momentum that started with the passion I felt for medicine and helping animals still flows strongly in my mind and heart.  I always feel like I need to be doing or learning something.  I feel like a traitor if I simply want to sit, or laze an hour away.

This need of mine makes it very difficult to relax.  An awkward piece of material suspended from just 2 hooks doesn't seem very inviting, either.  Hooks that don't look very stable or safe.  In fact, in the last two weeks, two people I know have crashed to the ground when their faithful hammocks gave way!  A hazard of relaxing, right?  It must be.  

When I first moved to this little jungle-beach town in Costa Rica 3 years ago, the house that we lived in had a huge wrap-around porch.  One corner of the porch featured a hammock secured by a tired old rope and questionable knots.  It was old, untrustworthy, and looked well used yet forgotten.  It smelled musty and hot, just like the surrounding jungle earth does in rainy season after a downpour.  It hung just low enough that a puppy or a playful dog could grab the underside and yank, creating a fun new toy.  I was pretty sure a number of different species of insects had made this hammock their home, yet I was naturally hesitant to shake it out and explore my hypothesis.  

I had a lot of work to do, living in that house.  Even though for the first year, I had help from my now ex-boyfriend, the work was never-ending.  I do, however, want to point out that a lot of what I did (and will do in the future) didn't feel like *work* because I was living my passion - saving animals.  Yet as each day passed with me exhausted by early evening, I began to feel resentful of that old, beaten up hammock that hung on the porch.  I was bitter, and felt conflicted because there was a part of me that desperately wanted to go and shake that hammock out and plop into it with all of my being...and just (as they say) BE.  But there was no time for such foolish hanging chair shenanigans, said my ever-busy mind.  And it was right, unfortunately. 

It was right in the sense that I didn't allow myself to create the time necessary to be foolishly relaxed.  Because our concept of time might be finite, but what we can do within that time is truly infinite.  That, my fun-loving friends, is an interesting battle between determination, our expectations, and letting go of preconceived notions. 

Then, one day, I did the unthinkable.  There was a quiet moment in the mid-afternoon.  All was still, and the animals were dozing away.  I reached out for the hammock, felt it's worn material in my hands, and gave it a shake while squinting in preparation for the worst.  Dust and old, dry exoskeletons flew in all directions, confirming my earlier suspicions.  Once the dust and bug debris settled, I carefully tested the strength of the ropes by leaning onto the hammock with most of my weight.  Still not thoroughly convinced I gingerly attempted to sit in the hammock, with my feet planted firmly on the ground.  I didn't fall.  I slowly started to raise one foot off the ground.  But before I was able to leave terra firma behind and float away, the ear-piercing sound of a bark aimed at my eardrums pulled me back into reality.  I was quickly robbed of that moment, and I remember the feeling of helplessness.  I felt defeated in my mission to relax.  The next day, I'd had it.  I was truly offended by the very existence of the hammock and promptly grabbed both the sharpest knife I could find and the biggest pair of scissors, and cut down source of my hostility. I felt very satisfied as I scrunched up the enemy and put it into the trash.  In it's place, we hung more string lines to hang laundry.  A very practical decision. 

A few months ago, I decided to move back to the jungle quickly after realizing my work contract in Thailand was finished. Let's just say I discovered that corporate animal welfare was just too...corporate...for the likes of me. I made the leap to have the experience of working in yet another foreign land, and I have no definitely have no regrets. But in the instant of truly having to consider my next leap, I felt an anchor tied to my heart that was pulling me back to Nosara.  I was ready to jump back into the nitty gritty of life here. But when I flashed back to what my life was like before I left, and *why* I left in the first place, I made a stubborn vow to myself.  

"Plenty of people miss their share of happiness, not because they never found it, but because they didn't stop to enjoy it" - William Feather

Plans were forming in my head, neurons hanging out together and creating a foundation for my next adventures and goals.  But in the middle of all the noise, I knew that I had to do one major thing differently this time.  I needed to enjoy it.

I've been back around 2.5 months, and so far I'm doing pretty good at keeping my vow and creating a new type of balance in my life.  It started a couple weeks after I got back, when I embarked on my very first beach-hopping Sunday Funday with good friends.  This Sunday tradition eluded me previously, due to living where I also worked and being responsible for many lives.  

Hey it's me, relaxing on a beach!

Upon arriving to my new home, I observed 2 nicely folded hammocks laying on the futon. We were having some VERY strong winds in early February, so it was a good excuse to ignore them, at first.  But then the winds died down and they were mocking me.  So, with a considerable amount of apprehension, I chose the more dependable looking of the two and I hung it up.  Then I proceeded to sit on a chair on the deck and stare at it for a while.  I'm not sure how long I sat there, but I suddenly realized that the time I was spending sitting in that chair was time that could have been spent suspended between two posts, floating away and watching the nature around me.  I literally laughed at myself and just took the proverbial plunge.  Not a single regret.  I think I lasted about 10 minutes that first time, before residual anxiety bubbled forth and made me think I had *things to do*.  But I've been practicing.  It's truly an art, letting go of what you're thinking and just trying to enjoy the moment.  It's fleeting, but when it happens it reminds us of why we made the choices we did.  It all comes together in that silent space we create in our minds when we simply exist.  

I find that I prefer swinging in the hammock and letting my senses take over, appreciating all that's around me.  The wind making the branches of the trees dance, the monkeys howling in the distance, birds and butterflies flying around, the smell of salt air and the sound of the ocean.  But occasionally I'll distract myself with a good book. 

Drink, Book, Cat, Hammock.  Life in it's most simple form.

I also discovered that Tommy, my new familiar, also appreciates a hammock lounge session.  He's taught me a lot about the art of living in the moment, as all animals do.  One day, a couple of weeks ago, I happened to wake up really early as the first hint of light appeared on the horizon.  After trying and failing to fall back asleep, I decided I wanted to meet the dawn in the hammock.  Suddenly Tommy meowed at me and jumped in too!  He settled on me and we slowly swung, relaxed, and watched the new day begin.  It was a very peaceful moment, and one I won't soon forget.  

My hammock buddy

I think I might be addicted to hammocking.  Or perhaps I'm addicted to the feeling of allowing myself the time to relax.  Either way, it's an amazing high.