When Two Things Can Be True at the Same Time

There has been one sentence quietly following me around this entire month.

Two things can be true at the same time.

I didn't go looking for it. Somehow it kept finding me.

Especially here in Coronado.

Every July, my entire family gathers here for the month.

It's one of the greatest gifts of my life.

My parents are here.

My three sisters are here.

Our husbands, our children, nieces and nephews. We've been doing this since my oldest daughter was just five months old. She'll turn twenty-one this year, which means we've spent two decades building this tradition together. We tell the same stories, laugh at the same inside jokes, watch another generation create memories of their own, and somehow pick right back up where we left off the year before.

Alongside us are several dear friends and their families who have become part of this tradition too. Summer after summer, we've watched our children grow up together on these same beaches. Somewhere along the way, these friendships stopped feeling like friendships and started feeling like family.

When you spend an entire month living this closely with people you love, little misunderstandings are bound to happen. Someone gets their feelings hurt. Someone needs a little time alone. By dinner, everyone's usually back together laughing again.

It is one of my favorite places in the world.

It can also be a lot.

Somewhere during the first couple of weeks, I noticed I was having a harder time finding my way back to center.

I was more reactive.

Little things lingered longer than they usually would. A frustrating interaction stayed with me. Conversations replayed in my mind when I was trying to fall asleep. Even small moments seemed to take longer to let go.

Around the same time, I caught a summer cold. That almost never happens anymore, and I don't think it was just bad luck.

Back home, my weeks have a rhythm. I regularly practice Yoga Nidra. I teach classes that, in many ways, keep me just as grounded as the people who attend them. Creating space to slow down has become woven into my everyday life.

This summer looked different.

For a while, I kept catching myself thinking something I suspect many of us have thought before.

"You should just be grateful."

And I am.

Incredibly grateful.

How lucky am I to spend an entire month with the people I love in a place that holds so many memories?

But eventually another thought started answering back.

You can be grateful and still feel stressed.

Those aren't opposites.

They're simply two experiences happening at the same time.

That question sent me down one of my favorite rabbit holes.

If you've known me for a while, you know I love understanding why we do what we do. Give me a psychology book, a research article, or a podcast about the brain, and I'll probably lose track of time.

So I started reading more about the nervous system.

As I kept reading, one idea stayed with me.

Our brains like familiarity. They like patterns. They like knowing what to expect.

It made me wonder if maybe I had been thinking about stress too narrowly.

I've always associated stress with the obvious things: loss, illness, conflict, deadlines, major life changes. But what about a month where you're surrounded by people you love from the moment you wake up until the moment you go to bed?

There's laughter over morning coffee. Before long, our NADO Chat is buzzing: "Where is everyone?" "Who's heading to the beach?" "Anyone up for Bingo tonight?" Somehow, dinner plans come together every night as the kids wander between condos as if the entire complex were one big backyard.

It's the best.

It's also a lot for a nervous system to take in without much downtime.

By late afternoon, I sometimes find myself putting on my headphones and pulling on my giant farmer's hat. It's become my unofficial Coronado uniform. Sure, it keeps the sun off my face, but it also does a pretty good job of hiding me from the endless parade of familiar faces on the boardwalk. Somehow, Coronado seems to attract half of Arizona every summer, so running into people you know is almost guaranteed. I genuinely love those unexpected conversations...right up until the moment I realize I don't have the energy for one more. That's usually my cue to keep walking, listen to the waves, and let a little quiet find me before heading back.

By the time I make it back, I'm not trying to get away anymore.

I'm simply ready to be fully present again.

It took me a while to realize those walks weren't me escaping from the people I love.

They were how I quietly found my way back to them.

When I looked back over the past few weeks, I started seeing the bigger picture. It wasn't just about one conversation or one frustrating moment. Even catching a summer cold began to feel like another clue that my body was asking for a little more care than I'd been giving it.

I wasn't looking for someone or something to blame.

I was simply trying to understand what my mind and body had been trying to tell me.

As I continued reflecting on all of this, that little phrase kept finding its way back into my thoughts.

Two things can be true at the same time.

I could wake up every morning feeling incredibly grateful to be spending another July by the ocean with the people I love most.

I could also need an hour to myself before I was ready to jump back in.

Once I stopped judging that need, it became much easier to honor it.

As I reflected on the month, another realization surfaced.

When I decided not to teach my sunset beach meditation classes because of the water quality concerns, I didn't fully appreciate how much those evenings grounded me too. Teaching has always been something I offer to others, but somewhere along the way I realized it has also become part of how I care for myself.

Without that regular rhythm, I wasn't checking in with myself quite as often. I wasn't creating as many intentional pauses throughout my day.

Looking back, I don't think I noticed the shift all at once. It happened gradually, which is probably why it took me a while to connect the dots.

It's a gentle reminder that the practices supporting our well-being don't stop being important just because life becomes full.

In many ways, that's when we need them most.

I'm leaving this month with more than memories.

I'm leaving with a sentence I have a feeling I'll carry with me long after I board my flight home to Arizona.

Two things can be true at the same time.

I can feel incredibly blessed by this tradition...

...and still need a little quiet before I can fully enjoy it again.

I can love being surrounded by the people who mean the most to me...

...and still recognize when my nervous system is asking for a little space to reset.

I can step away for a quiet walk...

...and come back with more of myself to give.

I have a feeling I'll keep finding new places where those words apply.

Maybe you will too.