Inner Tubes in the Ocean
How appreciating your inner child can bring healing
I couldn’t have been more than four or five.
I remember falling asleep to the gentle waves of the ocean in Hilton Head, South Carolina. Tucked away in a bed near the window. Wondering how to make this peace last forever.
We were visiting my grandparents. They were “snow birds.” They would leave right after the new year and spend their late winter and early spring in a warm location.
My parents would wake us up in the morning, and we would go out to the beach. Searching for shells and creating sand castles. We would swim in the salty tide and watch the sunset at night. It felt so special. I felt so alive.
So much of childhood was infused with that sense of wonder. Full of discoveries, uncharted frontiers. Focused on fun and play.
Drifting into adulthood
Those childhood memories never left me. I’ve done a lot of self-reflection as an adult. When did that sense of wonder disappear? When did life start feeling overwhelmed with stress instead of filled with fun? Of course, that is part of life and growing up… Taking on responsibilities, putting in the hard work. But a date on the calendar or age on the birth certificate does not need to dictate enjoyment or fulfillment in life.
Although I work as a therapist with adults, play therapy is not part of the typical repertoire. But in my training as a licensed social worker, we had brief modules to learn about play therapy. This can be an effective means for communicating with children in the therapeutic setting, allowing them to engage in play while having discussions, opening up the door for further interaction and conversation.
This led me to think… what if remembering or relearning how to play could unlock some of that joy, peace, and curiosity intrinsic to childhood?
A winter’s escape
Several months ago, my friends and I went on a quick weekend trip to Clearwater, Florida. A January or February trip has become a welcome escape from the bleak midwestern winters. We arrived with no real plan other than enjoying as much beach time as possible. One of the girls found an adorable Airbnb beach house steps from the ocean.
We checked in late on Friday evening and walked to a CVS drugstore, securing granola bars, energy drinks, chips, candy, and mini boxes of wine. Ready for the beach!
We woke up on Saturday and sought out some coffee. Then we made our way to the beach. My friends and I have found that traveling in a group of four is ideal; this allows us to break off into pairs to participate in activities if we have various interests. We staked our spot on the beach early, throwing down beach towels and snacks at a prime location on the shore.
We enjoyed a leisurely morning in the sun. Around midday, I started to become restless. Likely a combination of Red Bull and personality. I looked at one of my friends, a dear friend of nearly twenty years, a former roommate from college. As we have gotten older, we have realized that we can both push each other further to engage in adventures and challenges.
“I’m going into the ocean!” I exclaimed, although well aware that it would probably be freezing. The temperature outside was barely breaking 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Regardless, I knew that the least painful option was ripping off the band-aid. I threw my cover-up on the beach towel, tossed aside my flip-flops, and made a quick run into the ocean.
As soon as my feet hit the water, I was full of regret. The icy ocean was a shock to my system. Yet I was all in, submerging my head beneath the surface, allowing my body to feel the complete jolt of frigid ocean waves. As my head rose above the glassy surface, I gasped. I jumped from one foot to the other briefly, letting out a little squeal. So. Cold! I thought, teeth chattering, body shivering. As quickly as the regret sank in, however, I felt rejuvenated and alive.
My gaze hit the beach and the spot where I had left my friends. Two of them were still on the towels. I saw the third, my old roommate, bounding towards the water as well. She took some brief, cautious steps towards the ocean, but then forced herself to sink mostly beneath the water. Her face said everything- the same shock transitioning to energized joy.
We spent the remainder of the day transitioning from beach lazing to polar plunge. In between, we would hunt for shells. I felt like my inner four-year-old was emerging, eyes wandering curiously over the expanse of shells, skipping towards the ocean with anticipation and fear.
Floating into fun
All four of us went out that evening in search of food. We found a lively restaurant on the main stretch with an open-air counter and a DJ. We sat down on a long table facing the road, right next to the DJ. Throughout the dinner, the four of us watched bemused as passersby would break out into dance. We did the Macarena from our seats.
After dinner, we went in search of ice cream. I found my favorite- a birthday cake flavor- and demolished it. We returned to the Airbnb, watched a movie, and went to sleep.
The next morning, my adventurous roommate-turned-travel buddy intended to wake up to go see the sun rise. I am not a morning person. But I figured I could make up any sleep deficit on the beach or the airplane later. We wandered down the street and were able to catch a sliver of sunrise on part of the bay.
We went back to CVS. I can’t remember why. More energy drinks, maybe? Sunscreen?
As we were wandering around, we spotted a large rack of inner tubes near the front. We had briefly toyed around with renting kayaks or SUP boards.
But then my friend exclaimed, “They are only $14!”
That seemed like a deal. Bright and sturdy, this new oceanic toy was calling. The familiar wave of impulsivity and anticipation washed over me.
“We should get them!”
We made our purchase and showed up at the beach to meet our friends. They anticipated us coming back with maybe some Monsters and a bag of chips. They chuckled in disbelief, however, when we both came by with massive, bright pink inner tubes.
“What are you doing?” The one asked, peering out from behind her book.
“Floating!” I yelled, running towards the ocean with my inner tube and my Sour Patch energy drink.
That cold embrace of waves hit immediately, but quickly dissipated when I launched the rest of my body onto the inner tube. I lay in the sun, laughed as my friend flew into the water with her inner tube, too. We giggled and grabbed each other’s arms, trying not to float away.
We both discussed that it had been years since either of us had floated in an inner tube. The water was rocking me to sleep. We enjoyed people watching from our unique view. I watched children playing. It felt like we were harnessing our inner children. We paddled around in the waves without a care in the world.
No rent. No mortgage. No work. No chores.
Just an endless stretch of ocean dotted with colorful flotation devices.
We were out there for hours. Hours felt like minutes. We roasted sufficiently in the sun and returned to the shore feeling both calm and alive.
We laughed hysterically as we attempted to deflate our inner tubes. “This is the best souvenir I have ever purchased!” I declared.
Despite our limited baggage space on the return Frontier flight, we both vowed that we would find a means to transport our inner tubes home. We brainstormed when we could use them again, on other beach vacations, at Lake Erie in the summer.
Reintegrating my inner child
It wasn’t just about the inner tube.
That was just a symbol, a metaphor for embracing play and the childhood self.
Something about fully immersing ourselves in such a simple, childlike activity creates such a sense of joy, adventure, and vitality.
In those moments, letting the waves toss us to and fro, I felt like I was able to let go of all stress and all expectations. I felt fully present. A sense of renewed wonder.
How many times had I simply checked out of life, largely disassociating from the day-to-day activities and forgetting how it feels to be alive? Caught up in the usual grind, just waiting for a brief moment of air, of reprieve?
Maybe the key is to seek out wonder. Seek out joy. Seek out fun, novelty, and laughter. Become fully grounded and present. To live from a perspective of curiosity again. Of unbridled expectations, not tarnished by responsibility or history, but instead to see life through the lens of someone decades younger.
Despite the pressures of adulthood, that four-year-old girl was ready to emerge. Full of curiosity, hope, and engagement with life. Ready to float through troubles and whatever comes next.