Gift from the Sea

Gift from the Sea is not the sort of book I would have picked up on my own. My book club is reading it this year though and it is a brief 138 pages, so I initially decided to “just get through it” and be done with it. Imagine my surprise when I began reading and found that much of what Anne Lindbergh wrote over 60 years ago still rings true.

I must admit that I hadn’t realized Anne was Charles Lindbergh’s wife until I looked her up after reading this book. I’m glad I didn’t know as I was reading though because instead of placing Anne on a pedestal of preconceived notions – famous aviator’s wife, famous aviator herself, daughter of a foreign diplomat, rich, privileged, etc – I was able to read her words as though she were just an average 1950’s housewife who happened to have a writing career.

Much of what Lindbergh wrote in the beginning of Gift from the Sea resonated with me as both a woman and a writer. Like Virginia Woolf, Morrow advocates that women need to find a way to detach themselves from daily distractions so that they can have a space of their own to create and be. “Women’s normal occupations run counter to creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life” (29). How true this is! Morrow touches on the fact that women are by nature givers and nurturers and that they don’t resent the giving, so much as the feeling that they often give to no purpose. She writes, “no longer fed by a feeling of indispensability or purposefulness, we are hungry, and not knowing what we are hungry for, we fill up the void with endless distractions, always at hand – unnecessary errands, compulsive duties, social niceties. And for the most part, to little purpose.”
I can’t tell you how often I’ve made a mile long “To Do” list and driven myself nearly mad to get it done, only to find as I put the last checkmark in the last checkbox that many of the items weren’t really important at all – they were merely filler for my day, items to conquer in my quest for purposefulness.

What is Lindbergh’s answer to this search for purpose? It is two-fold: eliminate the unnecessary and seek solitude. When we do that, she believes we will find our “center” and begin filling it up with activities and relationships that sustain and renew us.

In what she calls, “the art of shedding” she states that we need to learn “how little, not how much can I get along with. To say – is it necessary? – when I am tempted to add one more accumulation to my life, when I am pushed toward one more centrifugal activity” (35). I was struck at how closely her thoughts resonate with the modern minimalist movement, which isn’t just about cleaning out your closet, but about eliminating internal clutter as well.

If we succeed in eliminating physical, internal, and emotional clutter we will be able to seek solitude in order to feed the “inner-life.”

Over sixty years ago Lindbergh wrote that the world does not understand people’s need for solitude and that is probably truer today. You run the risk of being labeled antisocial if you don’t have a Facebook page or Instagram account. Tell your children to turn off the TV because the noise is bothering you and they’ll probably think you’re in a bad mood. Imagine telling a friend that you can’t attend their party because it conflicts with your alone time! Most likely they would think you were not only rude, but in need of anti-depressants. In our society, one’s desire to be alone has been relegated to the status of a mental health issue. If only they understood what Lindbergh, and most introverts, understand: that “there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before. It is as if in parting one did actually lose an arm. And then, like the star-fish, one grows it anew; one is whole again, complete and round- more whole, even than before, when the other people had pieces of one” (42).

I can see why women were drawn to this book 60 years ago when the cult of domesticity raged and the idea that women deserved lives of their own was probably a bit foreign. Now, we live in an age when it’s not uncommon to go to a restaurant with music so loud you can hardly speak to the person across the table, which perhaps makes little difference when most everyone is on their iPhone texting, Facebooking, or playing a game. In this age of distraction, social isolation, and personal fragmentation, Lindbergh’s profoundly simple reflections from the sea still have the capacity to make us stop, think, and reevaluate our lives.