Before returning to the grey tundra that often characterizes Michigan winters, I had the pleasure of spending four days at the beach. I was not expecting perfect weather; it is January after all. But I stepped off the plane to a sunny, 80-degree paradise.

The following days were strung together by a series of lazy, beach bum activities: Sleep in a bit, drink two generous cups of coffee on the porch, eat fresh fruit, smear on some sunscreen and cart the bare necessities down to the beach. Once we got the umbrella secured (the most difficult part of the day), we were free to plop down in those striped chairs and bury our feet in the sand.

My afternoon activities then consisted of reading, floating in the waves, aimlessly wandering down the beach and contentedly napping. Conversation drifted between the daily shell finds and the latest behavior of the island’s countless birds. We snacked on homemade guacamole and watched the sunset, leaving only when the afterglow started to fade.

All the while, the waves consistently crashed against the shore. The tides came in and retreated out, marking their previous territory with shell lines and wet sand. Sandpipers darted away from the foam and back again, prodding for food with their little beaks. Pelicans coasted just inches above the water, effortlessly gliding through the air in search of unsuspecting fish.

There is a clear, predictable pattern found in life by the ocean. Charts map out the change in tides, studies predict daily bird behavior, and meteorologists (attempt to) forecast the weather. The sun rises and sets, spreading color across expanses of sky impossible to find in a crowded city. These patterns are consistent and reliable.

When you allow yourself to fall into this pattern, life slows down. Afternoons are wide open for alternately thinking and sleeping, adventuring and relaxing. The ebb and flow of the ocean slowly becomes a recognizable shape in your own day. Scrambled stress of everyday life melts away as your senses are focused on saltwater and the sky. Reality is still present, but seems somehow simpler.

As I contemplated my inevitable return to school, I found myself asking an important question: How can I achieve this same simplicity in a world where I have twenty different coffee mugs and three separate to-do lists? It is significantly more difficult

to keep a simple schedule when so many worthy activities require my attention. Realistically, neglecting responsibility is not the answer to this issue, and neither is permanently moving to the beach (unfortunately).

They key seems to be in the act of slowing down. My mornings at the beach were energizing because I had time to wake up. I appreciated the sunset so much more because I carved out an hour to watch it in full. I noticed the rhythm of the sea because I swam in it, observed its change through the day and listened carefully to its sound effects. I was fully present.

A lot of determination is required to slow down the typical busy routine. It is easy to get swept up in piles of assignments and pending future plans, but doing so may cause you to miss quiet, daily moments of rejuvenation. Complicated agendas are unavoidable, especially for college students, but it is both feasible and beneficial to carve out a small chunk of the day for an intentional break.