Swell Dame Anne Morrow Lindbergh

And Gift from the Sea

Swell Dame Anne Morrow Lindbergh

and Gifts From the Sea

There comes a moment when the things one has written,
even a traveler's memories, stand up and demand a
justification. They require an explanation. They query,
'Who am I? What is my name? Why am I here?

Anne Morrow Lindbergh
North to the Orient (1935)

“The Beach is not the place to work; to read, write or
think. I should have remembered that from other
years. Too warm, too damp, too soft for any real
discipline or sharp flights of spirit. One never learns.
Hopeful, one carries down the faded straw bag,
humpty with books, clean paper, long over-due 2
unanswered letters, freshly sharpened pencils, lists
and good intentions.”

Swell Dame Anne Morrow Lindbergh (1906-2001) softly reminds me this morning as I begin to pack my emotional beach bag to write about this influential and accomplished author, aviatrix, and mother. How dear she is to me. And we both know she is right.

“The books remain unread, the pencils break their
points, and the pads rest smooth and unblemished as
the cloudless sky. No reading, no writing, no
thoughts even—at least, not at first.”

Lindbergh’s masterpiece Gift From the Sea is one of the books I never unpack. Originally published in 1955, her exquisite midlife collection of essays has been a spiritual compass for millions of women worldwide; the pages Anne Morrow Lindbergh began for herself remain a comforting, enduring classic of inspirational literature.

It doesn’t matter what age you are when you read it; there is something extraordinary for you to discover about your authentic self, as you continue towards your Swell Dame persona.

I first discovered the book in the 1980s, shortly after I became a mother for the first time; I re-read it each summer on our wonderful, traditional week-long visit to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, to stay with my best friend, Dawne. First, we were single women and roommates; then we both married and became mothers; later, women with grown children, and beloved grandchildren.

Still, I’m shocked to realize that it’s been twenty-five years since I last read Gift From the Sea. I know this because, on some of its dog-eared, sunblock-stained pages, there are passages highlighted in yellow, pink, blue, violet, and green, along with my dated comments in the margin. It was the last summer before my first marriage ended, the last beach vacation we would take as a family, but I didn’t know it then, although coming events already were casting their shadows.

What shocks me is this sudden awareness, so strong, indelible, and so entrenched in my heart, and coming so unexpectedly. All day, the flotsam and jetsam of loss crowds in. I realize that Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s great gift to women of all ages and all generations is the vocation of remembrance. How to remember. And her remembering in her honest revelations speaks clearly and deeply to our own, especially when we feel alone.

So, remembering.

“I began these pages for myself, in order to think out
my own particular pattern of living, my own
individual balance of life, work and human|
relationships. And since I think best with a pencil in
my hand, I started naturally to write. I had the
feeling, when the thoughts first clarified on paper,
that my experience was very different from other
people’s. (Are we all under this illusion?) …

Besides, I thought, not all women are searching for a
new pattern of living or want a contemplative corner
of their own. Many women are content with their
lives as they are. They manage amazing well, far
better than I, it seemed to me, looking at their lives
from the outside. With envy and admiration, I
observed the porcelain perfection of their smoothly
ticking days. Perhaps they had no problems or had
found the answers long ago. No, I decided, these
discussions would have value and interest only for
myself.”

Sixty-seven years later, with over 3 million copies of Gift From the Sea sold in 45 languages, we’re amazed that Anne couldn’t imagine the enormous inspirational influence she would have on so many of us. And what a comfort she would be. Such a joy to picture life’s ‘porcelain perfection of smoothly ticking days’ once again. To believe, once again, that they are even possible.

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Coming of Age Stories

Woman must come of age by herself--she
must find her true center alone.

--Gift From the Sea