There’s something about water that resets the soul.
I recently spent a day in Lewes, Delaware, riding a pontoon boat with friends and family—including five lively children! You’d think it might have been chaotic, but somehow it wasn’t. The rhythm of the waves, the sun glinting off the water, and the laughter drifting across the deck created a kind of calm I didn’t know I needed.
It brought back memories of past end-of-year breaks—those first few days after the classroom emptied out and summer stretched ahead. For so many years, that space between school ending and summer beginning was sacred. It was when I exhaled. When I remembered who I was beyond lesson plans, grading, discipline, and coaching.
And this trip to Lewes brought me back to that, with an awareness that so many teachers are experiencing this right now as school has ended.
There’s a quiet perspective shift that happens when you’re out on the water. Your usual worries drift to the edges. The calendar fades. Time feels softer. It reminds me that renewal doesn’t have to come in big, dramatic moments. Sometimes it shows up in the hum of a motor and the wind in your hair, and the joy I see in my wife’s eyes.
Aging, too, brings a new kind of awareness—that joy often lies in simplicity. Watching the kids explore the boat, dipping their fingers into the bay, I was struck by how much I could feel that joy with them, without needing to direct or teach. Just being there was enough.
We often think of rest as passive, but this was active peace. A kind of spiritual realignment. I feel refreshed, not just physically, but emotionally. Grateful. And not about school ending as I’m well into retirement, but life’s activity. A time to slow.
And reminded, once again, that in the cycle of our lives—especially as teachers, caregivers, and those who give of themselves—we need moments of return. To the water. To the soul. To ourselves.
Here’s to more days like that.
