She was 73, half-naked and full of joy

She was 73, half-naked and full of joy.
And she changed me.

During our Easter break in Mallorca, we arrived one morning (frazzled) at a beautiful little horseshoe cove where the sea was deep inky blue but breathtakingly cold. And as the kids started splashing about in their swimsuits, I noticed a woman neck-deep in the water – laughing at two German men who were attempting, and failing, to submerge themselves into the chilly sea. She was jovially mocking them for being weak men and they were laughing in agreement with her.

Emerging from the water, it was impossible not to look at her. She was tall, lean and aged; deep brown, string-bikinied and beautiful. Her hair was white and pulled back in a loose ponytail and a thick gold chain with a gold coin hung low on her bronzed skin. Something about her was powerful.

And she appeared to be making a bee-line for us. Immediately, and to our surprise, she started chastising Daniel and me in her thick Dutch accent.

“Why do you all cover your beautiful children on the beach? Why all these sunglasses and hats? All this sun cream? They should be naked! They should be free!”

My hackles prickled as I attempted to explain they were still in long-sleeved UV swimmers as we’d been living in Asia and this was a last minute trip, hence I hadn’t got round to getting them anything “less covered”. And the hats: “Well, the sun is out, they have sensitive skin and heads!” I told her.

She wasn’t having any of it.

“I am seventy three! I swim here every day of the year! People think I’m crazy! I never wear sunglasses or suncream! Why you cover your daughter?! She is beautiful! People think I’m crazy but it's them that are all crazy, all covered, all stressed, all SCARED!!”

Here were my thoughts:

1. Err... why are you telling me how to raise my children?
2. You clearly don’t know anything about skin cancer.
3. How do you look so alive and how are you in your seventies and how are you so beautiful?

Number 3 Thought lingered.

Then she told me to do something.

“Take off your sunglasses. Let me see your beautiful eyes.”

I did (because I am a good British person). But also because there was something about her.

She stepped closer and suddenly her eyes were in my eyes – so bright and clear and blue. And wide, wide awake.

“You’re all so scared,” she said. “I never had parents. My siblings and I ran wild all day outdoors but we were free, we jumped off rocks and cliffs! We learnt to survive. We learnt to be smart. And the difference is now everyone is scared of everything. I am not scared, I let the sun in.”

It takes a lot to stop my eight year old daughter Rosie in her tracks, but even she was transfixed, this woman leaning into her mother so intensely.

And then the woman turned to Rosie, took her gently by her UV-covered shoulders, looked her in the eyes and said to her with a bright smile “I love you!”

Then the woman laughed, told us to have a good day and headed back up the beach with a playful spring in her step.

And Rosie was skipping all over the place, full of beans, full of excitement of who this “crazy” sea woman was.

The questions fired out of my daughter for days.

“Why did you let her talk to you like that Mummy?”

“But why doesn’t she wear suncream or sunglasses or a hat?”

“How is she so brown?”

“Does she really swim in winter?”

“Why was she saying everyone is scared?”

And all I could really say was this:

I let her talk to me like that because I was fascinated, there was something about her I liked. That sometimes the people who challenge us are our most important spiritual guides, if we can face the ego mirror they’re holding up to us. That she doesn’t believe in living in fear and therefore she’s free. She's so brown because she’s baked her body every day for decades in the sun. That I could tell by looking at her she’s healthier than most. And that people are so scared of life because they have become too safe.

After meeting her I didn’t strip the kids off on the beach – their winter-pale skin would’ve burnt under the sun. But I couldn’t dismiss the message of this woman, couldn’t shake off the fizz of freedom I’d felt when I’d looked in her eyes. She was right. We live in a culture of fear every day. And all too easily and safely we forget who we are. We cover up, hide, forget our birthright to live fully and wildly. And at what price?

Sometimes the “crazy” people are the sane people.

And sometimes, we need to take a risk. We need to let life in. Let the sun in.

It’s hard not to smile now when I think of the sea woman. 🙂

Happy Tuesday

Love,

Jo x