Listening To The Acoustic Version of Your Life

“Sometimes all you need is some quiet moments to once again see the magnificence of what surrounds you.”

What would you do if you had your own National Park?

My travels this week brought me to the the coastal region of Maine, not too far from the Bar Harbor area. The Bar Harbor area is home to the stunningly beautiful Acadia National Park. Acadia was a place I had often talked about going to but actually visiting the park was one of those things that I had never done. A last minute change in my schedule gave the window of time I needed and off to Acadia I went.

Acadia is located on Mount Desert Island, sitting right on the jagged Maine coast, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. It is a majestic place filled with glacier rock formations and old growth timber very much left untouched. The views are spectacular. Almost spiritual.

Aside from a friendly park ranger who waved as he drove by, I didn’t see any other human life. No one else. Just me.

The place was all mine. My own National Park.

 “How cool is this?”

QUITE SURREAL Certainly my timing played a role in the reason why the park was virtually empty. An early weekday morning in the middle of March with a 32-degree temperature usually keeps people away. But it was quite an amazing feeling having the place to myself.

During the hour I spent meandering through the park I stumbled across a sign for a beach. I drove into the empty parking area and parked. As I got out of the car I could hear the sound of crashing waves on the beach which I still could not yet see. The anticipation was building as I made my way down some stairs and on to the beach.

As I stood on the beach I was amazed with what I was experiencing and equally humbled that I was the only person in the world experiencing it.

It is emotionally surreal standing alone on a quiet beach.

Now I’m used to beaches being on the loud side, full of the human sounds of summer. Anything but tranquil. But on this day the quiet was magical, even transformative.

SOOTHING RHYTHMS Without the usual ambient noise and human distraction I could fully experience the beach and its surroundings as they actually were. Nothing other than it actually was. Sort of like listening to the acoustic version of song, unplugged to reveal the purity of it’s soul. I could fully appreciate the magnificence and beauty of what was encompassed me, like the soothing rhythm of the crashing waves, the gentle abrasiveness of the grains of sand, and the asymmetrical nature of the jagged walls of rock serving as bookends to this majestically perfect space.

Sometimes all you need is some quiet moments to once again see the magnificence of what surrounds you.

Life is noisy. Life is full of distractions. The pace and the pulse of life seldom give us the time for those quiet moments we need to rediscover the very magnificence that surrounds us in our own lives. But behind all the noise and all the distractions is the acoustic version of your life. You, unplugged. It is in these moments where you again see all the greatness that surrounds you, as well as the greatness within you.

HONOR YOURSELF For me standing alone on a freezing beach in the middle of winter was a great blessing. It gave me the opportunity to reflect upon the reactionary nature of the noises and distractions in my own life and how they at times distort my view of all the greatness that surrounds me. But you need not stand alone on a beach to gain this new perspective. No matter where you stand, all it takes is a few reflective moments to recalibrate your reality, to synchronize your spirit, to once again see the greatness that surrounds you.

You honor yourself when you allow yourself to again see the magnificence in your midst. Perhaps now is the time for a few moments of quiet reflection?

It’s a great day to be you!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s