The purest version of happiness

Aiming to be on the road by 10am, we managed it by about noon. Yes, almost lunchtime.

With small children in the convoy, we stopped for lunch after half an hour or so. Digesting sausage rolls, the journey was resumed for another half hour until the baby needed a feed, the toddler a toilet and the grownups a sanity coffee. The weather was good, and the road turned to dirt as we homed in on destination campsite, arriving somewhere around 3pm. Cars unpacked, time to pitch tents and get organised as the sun headed west and the waves gently whooshed in the background. With a ratio of 4:2 in the adults’ favour, our tent village would soon take shape.

I grabbed our 3-year-old’s hand saying, “come and see the beach!”. I imagined showing it to her, then returning to help pitch tents. I was wrong. Seeing the long stretch of white sand lapped by bubbly little waves, she ran into the picture, arms wide, joy in her body, her brain shouting freedom to its neurones and other important parts. I witnessed the purest version of happiness as she dropped down in the sand, making a game, feeling it in her hands, forgetting all other knowledge. The shoes and socks came off as we headed for the water. Then her pants and top. Naked and in love with existence, she splashed and laughed, caressed by late sunshine and the gentle touch of air. Running towards the distance, digging, dancing, rolling, she was all movement and liberation. 

We reached the lagoon at the other end of the beach, a peaceful stopping point with still water. She ran in a little, felt the cold, and quickly ran back to me. “We need to do beachwork,” she said, dropping onto the sand and punching holes in it with her fingers. “This is beachwork, stopping the sea creatures.” Not understanding the reasoning, I joined in the beachwork, punching holes in the sand with my fingers. We did this for quite some time, and then there was something else to do, so we moved on, moved on, moved on with the mood and inspiration and spontaneity of existing in the beauty of each moment. “I love being at the beach with my grandma! I love camping!” The glory of it expanded into the shadows as the lowering sun left us and the sand cooled. There was only perfection. 

Eventually one of the other grownups plus baby came to find us. Uuh, trouble with tents apparently. One blew over and the other has a broken pole. Boxes of food and bags of stuff all higgeldy piggeldy on the black sand, wallabies sniffing for pickings, nearly dinner time and no-one organising food. Sunlight growing dim, mosquitos are hungry too. 

We leave the empty beach, returning to our world of things. Things in a muddle. People in a muddle. 

But we’ve had our purity of moment and the connection to the wilds has been made. Soon the moon will rise, shining on the sea, lighting the night and casting long shadows of trees and our bodies walking in the dark. The waves whooshing all night, tomorrow’s beach will be there in the pink dawn, seaweed and shells and happiness.