It’s my cabana and I will cry if I want to, or take up the entire space, glaring at others that dare to share. I knew cabanas were an option at every resort, but never did I ever dare to reserve, I will now. They are meant for those of us who have spent lives in the chairs, sharing chairs, and schelping out the children focusing on their needs first. Truly parenting with juice boxes and cherrios in tow. It is my cabana time. I have arrived. Lululemon dupes and all. These two weekends have been devoted to bringing a smile to my face, the hubs is trying. I have struggled. Between turning the big 6-0, and my fathers passing without proper closure, life has become murky.

Wading through my clutter did feel better on a cabana. Perhaps it was our fabulous waitress, the perfect backrest, or the sea air and views. Or was it just the cabana with the only lacking accoutrement being a charging station for cell phones, or is that not the point of the cabana life? I dont know? A newbie here. But I will bring a charging pack next time, which while taking away my solitude, allows me to write and solves my huge cabana problem.

While embracing my new life fixture and enjoying every minute, I still clashed with my current status of coping with a life in transition. A life in the normal stages of 60. A life beyond empty nester and into the “one day retirement” stage. Don’t get ideas. Just one day. The day gave me clarity that served the day but the chaos bounced back today. It will continue. I can’t stay on a beach or any other metaphor for life perfected, forever. No matter how many trips, spas, and dinners my feelings will stay until I learn to manage them, without a cabana. But until then the memories and true joy I felt will help me along the way on this journey to find my peace.