Last weekend I went to Cape Cod. I’ve only been there twice in my life, about 20 years ago. I really wanted to go back. For some reason (knowingly or unknowingly), I’d incorporated the belief that it would be really difficult to ever get there again. I envisioned throngs of traffic, barely moving. I dreaded “driving through Boston” (even though there are a bazillion ways to get to the Cape without going right through Boston). I had simply dismissed the opportunity!
I was visiting a friend south of Boston. The subject of the Cape came up, and we both said “yeah!” And off we went. We started out at 3 in the afternoon. There was NO traffic and before we knew it we were crossing the bridge where the Cape begins. “I think we’re on the Cape now,” I said, fuzzily. There are three main roads that run through parts of the Cape, and we lucked out and ended up on one of the beautiful, less busy roads. But nothing was busy yet. Where were the throngs of tourists and traffic I had pictured?
We stopped in one of the prettiest small towns I’ve ever seen. A friendly shopkeeper recommended a bayside beach nearby (also with very few people). People had a few dogs on the beach and I heard mention that they only had one more weekend before the summer season began (and dogs are banned from the beach). Another friendly shopkeeper (a potter with his own store) talked with us about subjectivity and art. The weather was fantastic and perfect. We would have missed this beautiful opportunity (and day) if I had let my limiting beliefs guide me.
Strange, how strong our internal stories can be. And sometimes reality can completely put them on their side!
I know the Cape gets crowded in the summer, but we lucked out and got there at a beautiful time. And I was reminded again not to take my ingrained stories about stuff so seriously.