...to the Beach (rambling life lessons)

Prior to my week of isolation, the thought of it was intimidating, even to a lone wolf like me. Even the indirect socializing I so recently used to get from my job(s) was off the table. I imagined the anxiety that could sprout and flourish in such a state of alone, how it would spiral if I were not cautious and ever vigilant.

To my surprise, I found myself happy as the clam that lived in the ocean so very close to me supposedly is. I woke and rambled about beaches. I submerged myself in the water as deep as I could stand, which, in the mild winter, was thigh-high. I sat and sat and sat on the beach, with books, with a sketchpad, with a hat, with eyes closed, with a towel, with nothing at all. Only when the sun completed its descent in the early winter hours of evening did I reluctantly skulk indoors.

The weather was often balmy, by January’s standards. My environmentalist sensibilities were perturbed by this; my selfish individual ones were not. There was a fair amount of guilt for this, but shame and guilt are just constant reminders to let things go. 

I watched my thoughts pass as if they were on a reel, simple little sketchy things. The ocean has this uncanny ability to fill any cracks and fissures within you, and then brim you over. I thought about a great number of things, I suppose.

One, patience. I was once told not to pray for patience if I wanted it to be tested (because, evidently, there is no other way to build the patience muscle than for it to be exercised). This solitary week at the beach was not what I planned for or expected; I was to go on a great, cross country, liberating journey that would set me free from all my chains. Instead, external circumstances kept me closer to home than I wanted to be. At first, I sulked and clung tightly to my binds. 

Two, adaptability. The more I walked, the better the water felt. The cold of the water was no longer painful; it became comfortable. That notion translates to most other aspects of life as well. We become accustomed to what we surround ourselves with (so perhaps it’s wise to be careful what we allow into our circles in the first place).

Three, resilience. If I could have one wish for myself, it would be to be impervious. Impervious to what, you may ask. Everything! I’d shout. People have often likened me to fire, a heat that burns brightly. However, I think a more accurate analogy is to say that I am like water. I boil; I freeze.

But look at the ocean - look at the tide that continues and continues and just continues forever. Look at the river, flowing over and around barriers. Look at water fall from the sky; look at water as it is born and dies and is born again.