Paradise has its privileges. This villa, that feels like a fortress with its stone and shell walls and its sturdy foundation that survived Hurricane Irma, provides an elevated landscape of the greens and blues below. St. Thomas and the foamy trails of the car ferries are always visible and since we’ve arrived we’ve been able to view St. Croix, Vieques, Culebra and even the spanning mountains of Puerto Rico. We are perched at the top of a hill that looks down on neighborhoods called Chocolate Hole and Fish Bay with roads named Great Bay Road or Skytop Way.
On our perch, we are separated from what feels like a neighborhood, but can see the coming and going of cement trucks, horns tooting uphill to warn oncoming drivers of their massive loads that need the road. We can hear reggae and salsa coming from car radios and a few neighboring houses that are up here with us. There is a feeling of separation up here in the Great House of St. John, one that goes with ‘getting away from it all’ when seeking out places to go for vacation. It’s amenities are plentiful, from an ice cream maker to one of the most comfortable mattresses I have ever slept on, and yet this kingdom of cush creates a limbo of disconnection and isolation, one that I might crave for holidays but find challenging when moving to a new place.
Needless to say, as the kids have remote school until 3:30 and my husband is on calls most of the day, a heavy heart has met me on some of these glorious days of sunshine. I am alone in paradise (and I like alone time!) and yet this debilitating and familiar feeling, one that I had hoped to shed along with the purging of our belongings, has found a place at the table. I wish I could ignore its presence. But here I am, in a land where beauty grows on trees all year long, and am haunted by shadows of disconnection, isolation and the fear that I won’t be enough on this new journey, that sunshine won’t prevail.
So what do I do after a bad night’s sleep and waking to that loathsome lurking sense of self-judgement? I do what I did in Connecticut. I got up with the sunrise, made the bed and then some coffee, and got the dogs into the Jeep for a walk (along with a little nod to gratitude that I lived on a street where I could walk the dogs for miles, just outside my front door, for the last 8 years.) We walk and I listen to a podcast by my go-to guru, Tara Brach, and lean into my harbored distrust towards myself. Walking and releasing… recognizing, allowing, investigating, nurturing. As we got on our way a pitbull literally jumps out of a moving truck to meet my pack, and, thank god, the dogs were leashed! We hustled and the owner stopped his truck and quickly got control of the dog before he “met” my big brown dog Beau in protection mode. (another gratitude, this one to saving grace!) Brushing off the what could have been, we continued down Marina Way. Around a corner and by a stream, we come upon a few handmade signs that read “think positive” and “faith over fear”. We continue and more follow with “breathe,” “invite joy and compassion”. A painted stone heart rock leans against an entry way… Seriously. Here I am, in a funk where I am limited by my own beliefs and old stories, and friendly neighborhood strangers are in my psyche, helping me to snap out of it! And it doesn’t stop there...
We get home and Elsa and I frost the homemade birthday cupcakes she’d made the night before. I leave to deliver the treats to our new friend who lives down the hill from us. No one is there when I drop them off, but I instantly feel a sense of connection and joy when I put the aqua and yellow cupcakes on her kitchen table. She and her family of 6 live in a charming open plan villa in neighborhood off Rocky Point Road with villas built on top of each other, zig zagging down the steep hillside that overlooks Great Cruz Bay. There is no sense of “separtion” when you walk inside, instead a cozy and packed-in-there feeling where you don’t necessarily see your neighbors through the palms, but you can definitely hear them if they are making noise. Anyways, it made my heart smile and I left planning to make one more stop to discard of yesterday’s garbage before returning back to our house.
There is no trash service on St. John, rather open dumpsters dispersed around the island to deposit your trash bags filled with banana peels and soda cans (more to discuss on this topic later). After I threw our garbage into the giant dumpster I had to turn the Jeep around. I turned onto Great Cruz Bay road and kept going, remembering that one of the other things that brings me joy is exploring new places. Driving down the poured concrete road there were walkers and workmen. We waved and smiled. I slowed down and started reading the road signs, then the villa signs… I couldn’t see the homes from the street but instead started to absorb their generous names like Villa Kismet, Pure Joy, Blue Skies, Villekula, Serenity, Valhalla. These abundant, whimsical ceramic and wooden plaques marking their owner’s claims on fortune, happiness, community, and peace called out to me. “Pay attention to the magic and the messages that surround you. Sunshine or clouds, you belong.”
Ok, I hear you... And I’m smiling.
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