Give Us Feedback
Subscribe To Be Real
To The Cover
To The Contents Page
Making
Friends
With Money Workshop
Monday 9/15 & 9/22
Issue
Ten: Free Write
Scintillations
The Beach
Remembering
You
Julie Day
Current Events
Sex And The Country
Stirring Up The Dust
Letter to My Younger Self
More
Letters To
Younger Selves
Moody Girl
Photography
Cover:
Box of Skeletons
Hello
Pipe
Hive
Clouds
Pegasus
In Ireland
Subway
Guy
Poetry
Spring
A
Lesson In Wholeness
A
Child's Light
The
House That He Built
Summer
Night
Contributors
Readers'
Comments
Websites
We Like
Workshops
Play With Your Words
Making
Friends With Money
Future Issues
Issue Eleven: Play
Issue Twelve: Synchronicity
The beach is beautiful. It stretches out in either direction as far as I can see. The warm evening air on my face is both sweet and salty at the same time. The ocean has a methodical, mystical ability to draw me in. The motion of the waves, the soothing cadence, the monotony of sand, and the knowledge of passing time all conspire to hypnotize me. There is a feeling of rightness inside me when I am here, a feeling that I belong here.
The beach always makes me think deep thoughts. The ocean does not care about politics, or work, or sending its kids to college. It just rolls in. I think about the people who sat here a thousand years ago and the people who will sit here a thousand years from now. I am just a speck in that span of time. Just like a grain of sand. I feel small and yet somehow that’s okay. I am connected to nature. There is peace and calm in the permanence of these elements. The maker of this world surely must have had a great day when these things were made.
Being here relaxes me and gives perspective to my life. My mind almost never rests. In my head there is always a whirl of activity. How will I meet my project deadlines at work? Am I doing all the right things for my wife and my daughter? Should I spend more time at home and be a better family man, or more time at work and be a better provider? Do I have enough life insurance? Have I invested wisely? Will the stock market ever go up? What bills need to be paid next? But at this beach none of it matters and I know my efforts are needless spinning. The tropical setting coaxes my mind to rest and the feeling is bliss.
When I was young we came to this beach almost every year. It’s the same after all that time. The town has changed a little, but this place on the sand where I sit looking out over the water is the same. It’s been twenty years since I was here last and it was the sweet yet salty smell I noticed first.
The sense of smell evokes strong memories and I’m transported back in time. My dad was the grand master of beach vacations. He would book the resort months in advance then tantalize us with news about the upcoming trip. The anticipation was unbearable. Finally the day would come. We would start the long drive in the wee hours of the morning, because Dad said there was less traffic. (I think he just couldn’t wait anymore.) We would watch the sunrise from the back seat and survey the landscape hour by hour as it changed. The journey was full of stories, laughter and adventure, culminating in our arrival at the beach. By the time we got there we felt like we had earned it.
My folks used to rent a beach house that had two grand hammocks out front tied to palm trees overlooking the ocean. I could step out of our room, walk a few yards across the warm boards of the deck, and just slide into a hammock. The smell of coconut suntan lotion mixed in with the gentle breeze blowing through the palm fronds.
Now that I have returned to this beach I owe it to myself to come back more often. Coming here is like coming home. I want to boldly pledge to come back every year, but I know it won’t happen. As soon as I leave, all of the obligations and duties of my life will creep in and my mind will begin to spin again. I’ll think about work, and money, and family, and these things will win out over relaxation. I need to convince myself that the rest is necessary. If I can do that, there’s a chance I’ll be back next year. In the mean time, I’ll enjoy the beach while it’s mine. I’ll watch the tide come and go. I’ll walk in the sand and hunt for seashells with my daughter. And I’ll breath in one luscious lungful of sea air after another. Sweet yet salty…kind of like life.
Be Real Magazine | P.O. Box 26606 | San Francisco, CA 94126
Copyright © 2000-2005 Be Real Magazine. All rights reserved.